Tortured Soul
by casus17
Summary: A vision leads Sam and Dean back to a hunt they thought they had finished. Good news: they were right. Bad news: this is something much worse, and it leaves one brother powerless. FOLLOWON to GOOD SAMARITAN... COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1: Unfinished Business

**Disclaimer: **I wish

**Warning:** Minimal, teensy language. Gets a bit mouthy later on.

**Author's Note:** So, this is the much-awaited follow-on to Good Samaritan. Have to give thanks to samantha-dean for letting this idea intrude at all into my muse's room in my head. Give credit to her for this story, not me. Or, you could give it to both…

* * *

**TORTURED SOUL**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Unfinished Business**

The night was eerie, hot and humid. The moon was bloated overhead, the only thing visible in the night sky. The motel was silent, far too silent, even for the late time. Nearly midnight, there was only one room visibly busy, its occupants scurrying back and forth between the door and the black Impala backed up close to the wall.

Dean Winchester walked back inside the room and stopped, surveying it with a trained eye, looking for any misplaced belonging he or Sam had dropped. A minute later he nodded, satisfied, and walked from the room, locking the door behind him.

Sam was leaning against the passenger side of the Impala, fiddling with his sunglasses and squinting. Or frowning, Dean could never be sure which. Since Sam had been slowly getting his vision back, the younger hunter would squint often, trying to distinguish the blurry shapes in front of him into recognisable objects. And though Sammy was regaining his sight, the fact that it had taken three weeks for Sam to see colour again had frustrated the younger man, despite any comfort from Dean telling him it was a speedy recovery. Considering only four weeks ago he had been completely blind.

But now, Dean wasn't so sure it was his vision that was twisting his little brother's eyes into the shape they got when he tasted something sour. Judging from the way he was twisting his now unneeded glasses in his hands, something was bothering Sam.

"Sam!" Dean said sharply, bringing said hunter plummeting back down to Earth. Sam jumped, standing upright and dropping his glasses. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Jumpy much?" he asked, moving to the driver's side door.

"Sorry," Sam said as he bent to pick up his glasses. As he stood, the light from the motel sign caught his eyes, and Dean smiled with satisfaction. At least his little brother's eyes had regained their colour. However the smile dropped when Sam offered no explanation for his intense lapse in concentration.

"Well?" Dean asked with a single shake of his head. Still Sam said nothing. "What caused your record making leap?"

Sam frowned, squinting at the same time to bring Dean into focus. Dean stifled a laugh as his little brother reminded him of an old, old man.

"I was just thinking," the younger hunter shrugged.

Dean sighed. So now they had to play twenty questions. "About what?"

Sam shrugged again. "I don't know. Something feels wrong."

Dean nodded once, hiding his slight uneasiness. "Feels wrong as in you ate something that didn't agree, or feels wrong as in your shining is interrupting our getaway?"

Sam shrugged, looking away and giving Dean the answer. Which was the latter. He almost wished it were the sick stomach. Only then they would have had to stay another day because there was no way Dean was letting someone in the car when they were nauseous. The upholstery, man.

"Is it the job?" Dean asked next, keeping his gaze on his very uncomfortable little brother. "We did destroy that spirit, right?"

Sam groaned. "I don't know. Yes. Maybe. Yes, we did. I'm pretty sure we did."

Dean raised an eyebrow at the indecision, but the younger hunter was still talking.

"It's something else, I think. Something else in town." He suddenly shivered. "It's something evil."

"Something that needs us," Dean assumed. Sam shrugged, pinching the bridge of his nose and wincing. The older man felt the first flutters of unease in his stomach and began to move towards his little brother.

"Yeah, I-… damn, I think it does," Sam told him, eyes closed and pain making his voice coarse. He didn't even notice Dean coming around the front of the car. "I don't know what it is, but -."

Sam didn't get to finish. Just as Dean reached his side of the car, he cried out in pain, collapsing. He would have fallen to the ground if it weren't for Dean's jerk forward, catching his little brother in his arms. And then he could only wait as Sam continued holding onto his head, could only wait for the vision to pass.

Only this vision was different to any Dean had seen before. Not that he had seen any since… God, when was the last time Sam had had a vision. He wasn't sure, but this time Sam kept on moaning, kept on twitching harshly under Dean's strong grip on his arms. It was a stronger vision than any Dean had seen before.

Then suddenly Sam pitched forward, losing his balance and causing Dean to fall back. They fell in a heap, and Dean gave a disgruntled grunt as he pushed his little brother off of him.

Sam didn't go far, but used the momentum of Dean's push to fall back against the Impala's front wheel. As Dean sat up he barely noticed the dirt he was sitting in, not when Sam's pale face and trembling body was right there in front of him.

"What happened?" Dean asked, his voice hiding any sign of fear, or frustration he may have felt. While Sam's other psychic abilities were beginning to come in handy, these visions were just a pain in the ass, causing his baby brother to be hurt, emotionally and physically.

"I had a vision," Sam explained softly, his own voice betraying only the slightest bit of discomfort. Then his face fell in horror.

"Get in the car, Dean!" he cried as the vision resurfaced above the echoing pain. "Get in, we have to go, right now!"

The younger hunter stood, swaying slightly as vertigo hit him. Dean followed more slowly, not as keen to follow Sam blindly in to whatever the vision had shown. But Sam was already half way into the car, having groped for the door handle with only a little difficulty. He saw Dean standing there stubbornly.

"Dean, come on! We have to go, right away. Get in!"

The vehement pressure in his little brother's voice pushed Dean from where he was glued to the ground. After all, he always had had trouble denying Sam anything, especially when he was so obviously troubled.

"So what is it?" Dean asked, giving Sam a bare look as he stumbled with his seat belt. He turned the key in the ignition and five seconds later the wheels were spinning out of the motel. Sam still hadn't answered.

Dean gave the younger man another worried glance. "Sam, what did you see?" he asked as gently but as forcefully as he dared. Sam shook his head.

"The house where we destroyed the spirit. Something else must have been attracted to the fight, or something… It's something evil." He gave a shudder, remembering the despair he had felt as he had watched the evil being. It had been like he was rooted to the floor, unable to do anything, so petrified he trembled even at the memory. He noticed Dean give him a worried glance.

"What is it?" Dean asked again, though Sam knew he meant something else to what he had asked not a moment ago. He shook his head again.

"A demon. That's all I know. That, and it's evil. One of the most evil beings I've ever known." He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. "I watched it kill the family in that house. It executed them, Dean. Lined them up and killed them. They screamed, and screamed, and he laughed. He laughed."

He, Dean noticed. Not it. He decided not to mention the sudden change. "What did it look like?" he asked. He had to know so he could figure out how to kill it. They had to be able to kill it. And he had a feeling silver bullets weren't going to work on this thing. Not judging by Sam's pale, almost terrified face.

Sam shrugged. "It was in shadow. I couldn't see it, not properly. Tall, skinny. It's eyes glinted. That's all I can tell you."

"Any ideas on how to waste it?" Dean asked, refusing to let any of his own sudden panic show. He suddenly realized he was pressing the accelerator down to the floor, and was thankful there weren't any cops around. Still, he didn't slow, and the tyres squealed as they spun around a corner.

"I'm not sure. Spells, of some kind, maybe. Salt, holy water, the usual. Not silver. But I couldn't tell if he was possessing someone or not. If he is, an exorcism should work. I know of one in dad's journal." Getting down to business, Sam's face was losing some of that so obvious fear. "If he isn't, we need to bind it, and then send him back to hell some other way."

He looked across at Dean and noticed the white knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel. He doubted if Dean did though. The older man's face was still. Far too still.

He looked down and grabbed the journal, flipping through the pages. "Whatever he is, it's not going to be easy. This thing is powerful." He shook his head, sudden doubt making him feel queasy. "Maybe too powerful."

Dean's jaw dropped for the barest instant before he slammed it firmly back into place. "Nothing is too powerful for us," he said in a harsh voice, surprising Sam with the hard tone. Dean slammed on the brakes as the Impala approached the house where they had destroyed a spirit not three hours earlier. Then he turned to Sam. "Hear me. Nothing!"

Sam could only nod in the wake of his older brother's intensity. But the confidence spread, and he too felt the doubt disappear. Any Dean had felt had fled when the anger approached.

They both jumped from the car at the same time. Sam traced his fingers along the car as he made his way to the trunk. By the time he got there, Dean already had it open and was handing him a shotgun filled with salt.

"Shoot first?" Dean asked to be sure. Sam nodded.

"I'm sure salt will do something," the younger man assured. "Enough to give us the chance to do what we have to do." He looked up at the quiet house grimly. Nothing could be heard form it. The house didn't even creak. The wind was still. Sam felt a pit forming in his stomach as he watched it. He shivered and followed Dean up to the house.

Dean couldn't help but slow as he approached the front door. You didn't have to be psychic to get that feeling of looming disaster. He swallowed, wondering why he was suddenly so nervous. Maybe Sam's anxiety was catching; he was fully aware that Sam was having doubts. But they were Winchesters. They protected everyone and everything they could from the evil forces of the paranormal. _But is it no matter if we die trying?_

That thought struck Dean into stillness, a bare foot from the door. Sam, oblivious to Dean's distracting thoughts, pushed past him and turned the doorknob. It was unlocked, a matter of instant consternation for the two hunters, who shared a look. But Sam pushed over the threshold nonetheless, and his movement pulled Dean with him. They were both ignoring that pit in their stomachs, the sure sign of bad things to come. After so long practically coasting – yes, despite Sam's blindness – they had become complacent. Besides, there were people who needed protecting.

The house was just as silent inside as the world had been outside. Sam shivered as he pulled the shotgun up, closing his eyes and letting his mind cross outside of its physical boundaries. He slowed down as he spread himself through the house.

"We should split up," Dean suddenly whispered, breaking Sam's concentration. He withdrew, frowning slightly, but turned to his older brother with a calm face.

"No, we should stick together," Sam disagreed. He turned and began walking towards the lounge. Dean followed. They still moved slowly, almost afraid to move faster or talk louder than at a soft hush.

"Is it here, Sammy?" Dean asked, looking around. Sam frowned as he concentrated for a bare moment. Then he shook his head.

"I can't tell. But where are the Clarkes?" Sam responded, referring to the family who had been hounded by the spirit Sam and Dean had destroyed earlier. "They should have heard the door open. And it should have been locked."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Something's not right here," he said, summing up everything the two brothers felt.

The dark lounge was far too normal for the otherwise eerie night. The two hunters moved through it, guns up, nerves on edge, ready for anything.

The stairs loomed ahead of them as they moved towards the kitchen. Dean went to move up them, sure that was where the family would be.

Sam stopped, one foot resting on the stairs. He could feel something, right in the edge of his subconsciousness. He paused, going so still he wasn't sure he was even breathing. What was it? He pushed towards it with his mind, curious.

Suddenly it encompassed him, and he gasped painfully, feeling a terrible evil consume his very soul. It was an evil so strong that he had to take a step back, putting hand on his chest as abrupt fear petrified his heart. He gasped again, feeling horrified beyond any human comprehension. Sam himself couldn't understand it, only knowing that something monstrous was coming.

"We have to leave," Sam spat firmly, looking up at a very worried Dean, who had stopped on the fifth step to look down on his pale and shaking brother. "We have to go now."

Dean frowned, but stepped down the stairs at Sam's insistency. "But what about the Clarkes?" he asked, coming to stand beside his little brother.

Sam shook his head. "We're too late." How could anyone survive the evil in this house? "We have…" he groaned as that feeling of evil began to thump, like a heart beat, inside his mind. "We have…" He clutched once more at his chest, bending over and digging his nails painfully into the skin.

"Sam?" Dean questioned frantically, placing a hand on his little brother's back. "What's going on?"

"Demon… leave… powerful… evil." The younger hunter didn't seem to be able to say more than one word without groaning with pain. "Now."

But before either of them could do or say anything about leaving the premises, Sam fell to his knees, moaning more loudly now. Dean went to kneel beside him.

"No!" Sam suddenly screamed, feeling Death pervade the home, or something so very similar to how he was sure Death should feel. And it had come for them.

Only it was too late a warning. Even as he screamed Dean suddenly flew backwards, giving a shocked yelp before he hit the wall hard enough to crash through it. Sam could just make out, out of the corner of his eye, how the misshapen shape that was his brother fell and didn't get back up.

* * *

Oooo, so what's coming? Tune in tomorrow night, or tomorrow to find out. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2: Possession

**Disclaimer:** If I owned them, they would have died a few times already. Seeing how that's not possible (or at least ethically wrong according to our boys), it's obvious they're not mine.

**Author's Note:** Oh, should have mentioned. This is set in Season 1, and I suppose could be kind of AU-ey for the last three episodes of that season. I mean, it could have happened, it just didn't. And thank you everyone for all the reviews, they're awesome!

* * *

**Chapter 2: Possession**

"_No!" Sam suddenly screamed, feeling Death pervade the home, or something so very similar to how he was sure Death should feel. And it had come for them._

_Only it was too late a warning. Even as he screamed Dean suddenly flew backwards, giving a shocked yelp before he hit the wall hard enough to crash through it. Sam could just make out, out of the corner of his eye, how the misshapen shape that was his brother fell and didn't get back up._

* * *

Sam groaned again, loudly. He couldn't help himself. The feel of that evil being was so strong it resonated through every fibre of his being, so powerful it was painful.

And then he felt it approaching. It came closer, and the intensity grew. He cried out, putting an arm around his stomach as the pain relocated itself to there. He could do little more, even as evil approached, as he knelt helpless on the floor, overwhelmed by pain and debilitating evil.

He knew it was going to appear in front of him thirty seconds before it actually did. He cried out, trying to lunge to his feet, anything to get away as it came at him. A childlike fear had gripped him, because he knew the instant it found him, he was doomed.

But the movement only made him scream, and he collapsed forward. He managed to twist slightly and so avoided falling on his face. But the fear kept him immobilized as darkness deepened in front of his face.

His vision blurry, Sam couldn't make out the darkness well, knowing only that shadow stood before him. He actually whimpered, feeling as if every tiny molecule of his body had been stretched, pounded and left to die.

Something moved above him, and he tried desperately to roll away, tried desperately to get to his feet and fight this evil. And then he heard it. Laughter. The shadow laughed, and Sam groaned, gritting his teeth, refusing to give it the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt.

Suddenly he too flew backwards, and up, though it was with far less force than the shadow had used on Dean. He crashed into the wall, screaming as it pounded his aching body. He was so helpless, petrified by fear and pain, and he felt so guilty as he watched the shadow, and, in the corner of his eye, the unmoving shape of his older brother. Guilty that when the world, when his world, when Dean, needed him most, he couldn't do anything but whimper in agony. Couldn't do anything but let the evil into his very soul.

The shadow came closer and Sam squinted, trying to make out the figure with his physical eyes. He knew if he used his mental sight, the evil would overwhelm him and send him into darkness. Into Death. But the shadow remained a blur, a deep black mark on a dark background. And it came closer.

It was then, as it was mere feet away, that colour intruded on the blackness. To Sam it was as if the shadow opened its eyes. And sickly gold looked back at him. His breath caught, for no reason he could imagine; it were as if his gut, his instinct was telling him something, but was too petrified to actually explain anything.

It laughed again, and Sam felt the evil in his mind ripple. He groaned, rolling his head over the wall. _What the hell happened,_ he thought desperately, trying to understand it as the shadow came yet closer. And then all thoughts were gone as his eyes locked on the demon's unnatural yellow ones.

"What do you want?" Sam whispered, unable to make his voice louder, or more imposing. He wanted so badly to fight back, to fight it. But he couldn't.

It didn't answer. At least not physically. Instead, it reached out. Again, not physically, and Sam recoiled with horror as its mind tried to touch his with a darkness deeper than anything he could have believed. It seemed to suck the life, the light, from the very air around it. It was a darkness deeper than even the recesses of Sam's mind that had been all he could see while he was blind.

Sam tried to pull back from it, but the wall was behind him, blocking any escape attempt.

"NO!" he screamed as the darkness inched closer, seemingly in slow motion. As a last resort, he lashed out at it with his mind, like he had done with Eve in Wisconsin. The demon merely laughed, blocking his strike with the easy power an adult shows over a child. Sam paled in horror as the darkness infused him.

For a terribly long moment, Sam lost himself. He could feel the darkness invading everything, choking him, forcing that sense of self down. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, more damning than any possession he had endured, more pervasive than any psychic invasion. He felt that old fear erupt as he, as Sam, fell into nothingness. That fear of his mind being overturned.

He felt himself groggily trying to fight back. But it was like the shadow was drugging him. His mental movements, the movements of his mind, his fight back, slowed, he couldn't think, not properly. He was fading…

_No!_ he screamed inside his own head, knowing he was losing. Losing his own mind. But screaming was no use. All of Sam, everything that made him Sam, that made him Sammy, was leaving, being repressed by a power older and stronger than anything he had ever fought before. And it was then he realized how truly overwhelmed good was.

Light fled, memory darkened, leaving only the evil. And the psychic abilities. But they were useless as Sam lost everything about himself that he prized.

"NO!"

He suddenly resurfaced, screaming with fear as the darkness exuded by the shadow began to control everything about him. It pushed at his memories, pushed at him, at the Sammy that Dean had sworn to protect. It was leaving a Sam that should never have been in existence. A dark Sam. An evil Sam.

"NO!" he screamed again, grasping at the fleeing memories. His mind grabbed them, drawing them close, where the darkness the demon was trying to fill him with couldn't get to them without destroying Sam as well.

He felt a change in the air around him as the darkness inside him paused. The smug arrogance of the demon had been replaced by anger, a knowing anger that there was too much of Sammy to defeat. Sam drew on that to fuel his own mind, and began pushing at the darkness.

He groaned at the intensity as he pushed the boulder-like darkness that had taken a strong hold on his mind. But as he pushed it began to move, moved slowly. He felt his nose begin to bleed at the pressure in his mind, but ignored it, ignored the pain. And then suddenly it was gone.

He fell to the floor an instant after the darkness had gone into him, not realizing that the entire fight for his mind had taken less than a second. The bonds holding him to the wall had disappeared as the darkness snapped back to the demon, the now shocked and frustrated demon. The angry demon.

Sam lay on the floor, exhausted, gasping for air through the ache. He looked up and saw the hand reaching down for him.

He tried to swat the hand away, but couldn't even summon the strength to lift a finger from the floor. The demon suddenly regained its swagger, laughing as it grabbed the youngest Winchester by his jaw. It lifted him as if he was nothing, and Sam could only kick wearily, lacking the strength even to reach the shadow. And then the shadow opened its mouth.

Sam couldn't even scream as the demon left the shadow in front of him and came at him, crawling into his mouth, making him want to retch and gasp at the same time. He groaned somewhat, the only noise his tired body could make, but audio was no use at all against the demon. He hung there, helpless, as the demon possessed him.

It was in the bare second as he dropped nimbly to his feet, in that bare instant before the demon took complete control that Sam felt a horror like nothing he had ever felt before. Because this demon, he suddenly realized, wasn't just a demon. It was _the _demon, The Demon. And then The Demon laughed, an evil laugh that bubbled from the lips that had once belonged to a human named Sam Winchester, as it easily suppressed the once powerful mind of its host.

Giving an indifferent sweep of its hand, the man it had been possessing disappeared in a shriek of pain. Then it climbed the stairs, smiling in sadistic pleasure as it thought of the family it had used as bait. And what it intended to do to them. After all, visions were seldom wrong.

* * *

"Dean?"

A worried voice broke through the haze that had consumed Dean. He groaned, rolling around and wincing as the movement awoke a terrible pounding in his head.

"Dean, open your eyes!" The same voice commanded it, and for a moment he couldn't quite place the tone. It sounded familiar. It sounded very familiar. But there was something wrong. Some inflection that shouldn't be there. Some inflection that should be there, but wasn't. He frowned, trying to reason out why.

"That's it, bro, come on, you can do it."

Bro? Ah, the voice had to be Sam. He relaxed, knowing he was in safe hands. Damn, his head hurt.

"Please, Dean. Just open your eyes." Now the voice, Sammy's voice, was pleading. Well, he never could deny Sammy anything. He let his eyelids flutter open.

"That's it!"

The relief in his little brother's voice was palpable. Dean groaned, blinking forcefully a few times to clear his vision. Sam's anxious face came into view slowly.

"Sam?" he questioned. The face nodded, and Dean sat up groggily. "What happened?" he asked his younger brother.

A fleeting look of pain passed over Sam's face before it was covered with ease. "The demon got you. You crashed right through the wall, Dean. I'm amazed you don't have a concussion or something."

Dean frowned. Obviously something was wrong with his head. He put a hand to it. "What about the Clarkes? And what happened to the demon?"

Sam shrugged. "I got rid of the demon. Salt in the chest, and a few chants. And poof, no more demon."

There was something wrong with Sam's voice. Dean shook his head, trying to get rid of the problem with his hearing. "What about the Clarkes?" he repeated, frowning as he tried to clear his muddled head.

"We were too late."

Dean snapped his head up to eye his little brother. There was something there… remorse? Guilt? He was pretty sure that was what that glint was. But the way he had said it, had told Dean about their failure. He had said it so flippantly. Dean's frown deepened, but before he could say anything, Sam spoke again.

"Dude, you frown any deeper and you're gonna have wrinkles worse than Dad."

Dean's face snapped to stillness, though his mouth dropped. "Hey, I don't frown that much," he bit back. "I wouldn't do it at all if I didn't have to worry over your damsel ass all the time," he joked, putting a hand to the back of his head and wincing.

"Fine, I'll leave."

Dean's head shot back up, shocked. Was Sam serious? He sounded it. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

Suddenly Sam rolled his eyes. "I was joking Dean. You know, ha ha. Jeez, take a breath. I'm not going anywhere big brother."

Dean did. Take a breath. A big one. All oxygen intake had stopped when Sam had…

"Did you hit your head?" Dean asked, not thinking. But something was up. Sam was acting different.

The younger man's eyebrows rose. "No," he replied slowly. "But I think you hit yours harder than I thought. You feeling okay?"

Dean frowned, forgetting Sam's joke not a minutes ago. "Fine. Or I will be. I think I need to rest for a bit, though."

Sam shook his head. "We need to get out of here. People know we were with the Clarkes. And now that they're dead…" He let the rest of the sentence hang in the air, but Dean got the drift. He got to his feet, slowly. Sam stood much faster, and gave him a hand as he stumbled on nothing but vertigo.

"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked again, putting a few of Dean's qualms to rest. The worry was blatant in his voice.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. But you drive. We can leave straight away. Head north, I suppose."

He was walking as he said it, Sam a foot to his left, hovering. But even with the brotherly worry, Dean swore he saw Sam glare as he suggested the direction. He turned his head sharply, but he had to have been seeing things. Sam's face was a picture of worry.

"What?" the younger man asked. "Come on, we should leave. Like now."

Dean nodded and walked forward, steadier than before. Sam let him walk on, making sure the older hunter was unable to see anything. And then, for the quickest second, his face split in a sadistic smile, and his eyes flashed yellow. And then the worried face of Sam Winchester was plastered back on.

* * *

Dum dum da! So, what did you think? Hope you all likies! Not really sure how this plot line will be taken, but hey, it's all good. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3: Becoming Aware

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** Ok, getting into the swearing here. Not for those with mild ears. Oh, and spoiler for Phantom Traveller.

**Author's Note:** Thanks everyone for all the wonderful reviews! Here's the next chapter for you all. Oh, and the towns in this story are completely made up, to my knowledge. Have fun!

* * *

**Chapter 3: Becoming Aware**

Dean rolled the window down, letting the night air cool his face. He was just glad they were out of Florida, and he leaned back in the driver's seat, relaxing.

_Or try to,_ he thought unhappily to himself as he glanced across at Sam lounging in the passenger seat. He could never remember a time when silence had been uncomfortable between himself and his little brother. But that day's driving had come close.

They had driven since fleeing the Clarke house the night before. Sam had taken the first shift, until Dean had made him pull over. The younger hunter had been driving recklessly, speeding, swerving around corners faster than even Dean would have dared. It was so un-Sam-like that Dean had spent the next hour casting worried looks in his little brother's direction. Sam had pretended to sleep, but even he had begun to shift uncomfortably as Dean kept on looking at him. Or maybe he shifted with anger. Dean found that he couldn't tell.

They hadn't spoken until they had crossed the Florida border into Georgia. Then it had only been for Dean to ask Sam if he wanted anything from the gas station. By that time Sam had given up pretending to sleep, but had still been ignoring him. Even his query had been met only with a shake of the head.

Something was bugging his brother, and Dean would be damned if he didn't find out what.

Glancing back at the road in front of him, Dean spotted the sign for a motel. _You read my mind_, he thought to no one and began to slow down.

This seemed to bring Sam from his stupor. He sat up, looking around. "What are you doing?" he asked. Dean gave him another small glance.

"I'm tired of sitting in this car." Damn, but he never thought he would say that. "We need to rest for the night. Search for our next gig."

At the word gig, he could have sworn Sam's lips turned into a sneer, but when he looked closer, he realized he was yet again seeing things. He shook his head. He was going crazy. Obviously he was still suffering after knocking his head the night before. His head? His whole damn body was aching.

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

Dean gave a more obvious glance at Sam, arching an eyebrow. "You sure then?" he asked jokingly, pulling into the driveway of the motel. Sam rolled his eyes, making Dean even more confused. The eye roll was classic Sam. And yet the younger man had been like a stranger the whole day.

Dean parked the car, and went in to rent a room. When he came out, Sam was leaning against the car, fiddling with his sunglasses once more. The older hunter was reminded visibly of the night before, and frowned.

"Something bothering you?" he asked, moving to the trunk and opening it. Sam followed, shaking his head.

"No. Why?"

Dean shook his head. "No reason. You've just been quiet all day. And you're playing with those sunnies again. Not a good sign."

He shut the trunk, having grabbed his and Sam's bags. Handing his brother's his, he moved off to his room, the one thankfully nearest the car. At least he wouldn't have to move it.

Sam shrugged. "I'm fine, Dean. Just tired."

* * *

By the time they had reached the motel, it was already nearly midnight. Tired from the day, both Winchesters lay down to sleep. Within half an hour, the snores of one ripped through the room.

The other looked across in annoyance. His once brown eyes glinted a golden, sickly yellow. His face contorted into a silent growl. There was no way he was living with _that_ for the next however many weeks it took to find the father.

He sat up and spun, so he was sitting crosslegged on the bed, facing the other man. Or the only man, depending on how you looked at it. Physically, the other man. Mentally… well, the man sitting wasn't a man in charge of his own mind.

Another snore ripped through the room, and the man sitting crosslegged, the being who was once Sam Winchester, actually gave a low growl, though nothing loud enough to wake the brother. It had had enough.

Seemingly of its own will, a pillow drifted into the air, floating a few feet in the air above the bed. Another snore split the room and it growled again. It was a terribly old demon, one which inspired fear most other beings, if not all. It demanded, and got, respect driven by that fear. And there was no way it was living with _that_, no matter the benefits when it found John Winchester.

The pillow floated across the space separating the two beds.

* * *

For so long Sam floated in dark despair. That, at first, shocked him. That in his own mind, despair was almost a physical thing. Enough to bog him down, fog his mind. He drowned in it, knowing nothing else besides the fact that he was a prisoner in his own body. In his own mind.

Or maybe that was the reason. Maybe the despair was provided by the demon for it's victims to wallow in as it used their faces, their voices, their memories, to fool and then kill the their families.

Sam wasn't sure, but it surrounded him, like water in the lake of his mind. Filled his nostrils, his mouth, his ears, cutting him off from everything, blinding everything enough for thought to be cut off as well. All he knew was the despair. He wasn't aware.

And then something changed. Some malcontent sliced through the bindings of his mind. He surfaced, and suddenly everything was as fresh as air would be to a man just saved from drowning.

He couldn't see at first, could only feel. And he felt… well, wrong. Like he had when the psychic demon back in Bloomsfeld had possessed him. Only worse. He felt his guts turning like he had swallowed oil, felt his mind denying it, felt the bile in his throat rising, but couldn't do anything about it because his hands, his legs, his mouth, were still bogged down.

Then all that seemed to fade into the background, for which Sam was grateful. It was still there, but half forgotten as he looked out of his eyes, only slightly shocked to find the sight still blurry. For some reason he had expected it to heal his vision. But obviously the demon wasn't all powerful. But it was powerful enough.

Sam gasped silently as he realized he, through the demon, could sense everything, every living being, within… a long distance. He wasn't even sure how far. But it was like there was a map in his head, pointing to every single being in that radius.

But none of that pointed out why he had suddenly surfaced from his own mind. The demon hadn't noticed, surprisingly. Sam looked around, though his view was limited to what his captor saw. And that's when he saw the pillow, floating directly above Dean's head. And he could feel the gleeful malice of the demon as it prepared to smother his older brother.

_No!_ Sam screamed in his own head; he had absolutely no control over his own mouth.

But the demon heard nonetheless. It glowered as it realized Sam was aware now, for the first time since it had taken over. And then it gasped in shock as the pillow came flying back at the face of its host.

Sam felt himself go weak as he lost the temporary control of his telekinesis. He was just glad he had been able to do it. And he could still talk to the demon. Distract it long enough, maybe, for Dean to suspect something. He knew he had no chance of taking this demon on, not like he had tried on the psychic demon back in Bloomsfeld.

_You will pay for that, hunter!_ the demon snarled at him. Sam moved back from it slightly.

_You're not touching him,_ Sam told it quietly, making his voice as hard as possible. Or not his voice, but his thoughts.

_And you can stop me?_ it asked, amused. _Look at you. You're weak. Even that one little movement made you… pathetic._

Sam snarled. _You're not touching him!_ he screamed at the demon. _You killed my mother, and my girlfriend. You're not killing anyone else. I swear it!_

It laughed, and the sound was so evil that Sam couldn't help but shiver. Not that his body showed any sign of his discomfort.

_We will see._

* * *

Dean woke early the next morning, feeling surprisingly refreshed. He sat up in bed, yawning and giving a small stretch, before looking across at his little brother. Sam was laying haphazardly across his bed, his covers strewn everywhere. Dean raised an eyebrow. Sam didn't usually toss so much in his sleep.

He shrugged it off and flung back his own covers. He got up and dressed silently, intent on going down the street and buying some fresh, hot donuts for breakfast. The kind that Sam would appreciate but would still complain endlessly about. He needed to do something to crack through his little brother's sudden, quiet, sullen haze.

When he got back to the motel room Sam was up and dressed. Dean frowned as he saw what Sam was wearing. It was almost as if the kid had raided Dean's wardrobe. Dark, heavy, kind of depressing.

"Finally decided to take those fashion tips from me, did you, Sammy boy?" he joked as he put the bag of donuts on the table.

Sam turned, and looked him up and down, before raising an eyebrow. "You?" he asked incredulously. The tone was harsh: there was no tease to it. The comment had been said to hurt. And that stung.

Sam, Sam the psychic wonder, who couldn't handle a room next to the honeymoon suite, seemed to be unaware of Dean's abrupt discomfort. Instead he dropped into one of the chairs by the table and peered into the bags.

"Oh, donuts. Yum, haven't had these in a while."

Again Dean frowned. "Ah, Sam, we had them yesterday." And the day before that. And the day before that. The older man wasn't sure if his little brother was kidding or not.

Apparently not.

Sam frowned up at him, and then looked away quickly as something seemed to come over his eyes.

"Ah duh, Dean. You know, you need your sarcasm detector fine-tuned."

"Apparently so," Dean said quietly, sitting down opposite Sam. He grabbed one of the donuts, but his hunger was long gone. Gone with that flash of fiery fury he swore he had seen in Sam's eyes before his little brother had turned away.

* * *

Sam watched Dean pretend to eat through eyes he no longer controlled. He watched with a satisfied grin on his mental face. The demon inside him raged against him, swearing to make him suffer. But Sam didn't care. Because he was fighting it.

He had managed to hide things from it. Memories, important facts about his relationship with Dean, about his daily habits… little things that could make the demon slip up, make Dean curious about why his little brother was suddenly wearing black jeans and no hoodie.

Of course, the demon knew that now. Knew that it didn't have every memory and thought to sift through. And it was angry. Very, very angry.

That made Sam very, very happy.

Still, he knew he would pay for it. And he knew he couldn't do it forever. He had no illusions that he was unique in his ability to fight back somewhat. And the truth remained that the demon had almost complete control over him. He would try to lift an arm, and it wouldn't move. It was like being paralysed.

And he knew that the longer he fought, the harder he fought… the weaker he would become.

Soon, he wouldn't be able to hide information from the being inside him. Wouldn't be able to stop it from using one swift flick of _his own wrist_ to send Dean crashing into a wall. Wouldn't be able to stop it from picking up that pillow and smothering his sleeping older brother.

And that made him very, very angry.

It was anger borne entirely from fear.

Sam watched as Dean stopped eating his donut and grabbed the laptop. "Research?" he felt his own mouth ask.

He growled inside his mind and the demon laughed at him. But it concentrated on its conversation with Dean.

Dean nodded, not looking up from the screen. "Gotta find that next gig. Forget that last one. Those poor people."

Huh?

Sam felt a thrill of terror as he remembered his vision. The dark, skinny, tall figure murdering the Clarke family. And it came to him in a jolt of guilt. That had been him. In his vision, it had been him standing over them as they…

_You fucking bastard!_ he screamed at the demon possessing him. _You killed them! You fucking killed them!_

The demon laughed at his rage. _Of course it is. It's what I do… hang on, Dean's got a better explanation._

Sam recoiled as it suddenly began sifting through his memories. It found what it was looking for quickly. And the memory replayed for him.

A motel, somewhere cheap in Pennsylvania. Sheets of paper all over the wall. He was sitting, looking up as Dean paced, rubbing a hand through his hair.

"Demons, they don't want anything. Just death, and destruction –."

Sam managed to cut it off there, refusing to watch anymore. _Stay out of there, you bitch! _he snarled, wanting so badly to kill it. Wanting to wrap his fingers around its neck and never let go.

The demon laughed at him, laughed long and hard. _You think you can stop me, Sammy? Your memories are mine. Everything you are, everything you own… it's mine._

"Sam, you okay?" Dean asked suddenly. The demon snapped Sam's eyes to lock with his brother's. The younger man could see the worry in those green eyes.

"Yeah fine… it's just, those poor people."

Dean nodded slowly, but Sam could tell he wasn't convinced. The demon's tone had lacked… well, it lacked that sincerity that made it Sam's voice. That sincerity that made people trust him. And he could tell it was bugging Dean.

He managed, somehow, to keep his observations to himself. He knew that little bit of power wouldn't last, but he savoured it while it did.

Meanwhile, the demon was continuing its conversation with Dean. "Find anything interesting?" it asked.

Sam shuddered at the weirdness of it all. He could feel his mouth moving, and noise was coming out, but it wasn't him controlling it. Weird.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe. Ah, nothing in Georgia, which means road trip. But, there have been several disappearances in Cromwell, Alabama. And monthly 'animal maulings' in Kelton, which is between here and Cromwell."

Sam felt the demon's interest perk up. "Animals, huh? I'm guessing on the full moon."

Dean chuckled, getting lost in the search for a hunt. "Yep. Werewolves. Only one or two I'd say, because there's only been a few bodies found."

Sam felt his head nod. "That sounds good," the demon said. "How far?"

Dean frowned in concentration. "Ah, maybe two days drive. One and a half if you drive like you did getting away from the Clarke place."

He was joking, and the demon grinned. "You gonna let me?" it asked. To Sam, it said, _Your brother loves that car. How much would it hurt him if you smashed it?_

Sam snarled at it, feeling that itchiness in his fingers once more._ If you touch him I will kill you. If you hurt that car, I'll make your life a living hell!_

The demon just laughed at what it knew to be empty threats._ Sammy boy… that's what I've done to yours._

And then it turned to Dean, ignoring the hunter raging in his own head. "Kelton it is then."

* * *

Bit of a nothing, jumpy chapter, just to fill in the gaps. Hope you liked it still!


	4. Chapter 4: The Hunt

**Disclaimer:** The boys don't belong to me. Neither do the lines most, if not all, of you will undoubtedly recognise. Just borrowing, mixing it up and returning in much the same state as it was loaned.

**Warning:** Bit more swearing. And, from here on, the story might have general spoilers for season 1 that I've sprinkled in there. Nothing too serious, but yeah.

**Author's Note:** Two chapters tonight, since chapter 3 seemed a bit… well, not enough to thank those still reading. So here you go, chapter 4.

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Hunt **

Dean shrugged underneath his coat, frustrated and angry as he stalked the forest near Kelton. Sam moved stealthily behind him. They both had their guns, complete with silver bullets, up and ready.

The rain poured down, the wind tried to push them over, and the shadows of the trees jumped out at them from the night. Dean already felt annoyed as it was, with Sam's strange behaviour on the long drive here and all day today. Biting remarks, incredulous looks… just things that Sam would never have done. And he had seemed almost bored with the research they had had to do. Sammy, the geek of all geeks.

They had arrived in Kelton the night before, waking the displeased attendant who almost refused them a room despite the fact that the motel was twenty-four hour. From there Dean's mood had only worsened. Sam had woken him three times in the night to complain of his snoring, which Dean was sure wasn't actually true. Then he had had to go and get breakfast, most of which was eaten by Sam. The kid had a sudden appetite like none that Dean had seen him have before. And while normally he would have been pleased… this sudden change was just strange.

So now Dean was looking forward to shooting a few werewolves. His grip tightened on his gun.

He knew, from the research, that the den had to be around this section of forest somewhere. And though he couldn't see it past the dark storm clouds, the full moon was high above, which meant they would be around tonight.

He was rewarded with a sudden flash of movement in the trees to his right. He paused, turning slightly on the balls of his feet, and pointing the gun at the trees where the movement had been.

"Did you see that Sammy?" he asked quietly, though he couldn't whisper above the rain.

There was no answer.

"Sammy?" Dean said a little louder. Still no answer.

Fear started to seep into him. He turned slightly, keeping one eye on the forest. The other searched for his little brother. And came up empty-handed. Or empty-eyed anyway.

"Sam?" Dean shouted frantically before he could get a hold on himself. He cursed as he realized he had just given away his position. Well, he supposed it didn't matter now. He needed to find Sam. There were maybe three werewolves out there, and one was hard enough to handle.

He moved away, trying to find any sign of Sam while keeping his hearing trained on the noises in the forest. He knew he should have kept at least one eye on the forest; he would never hear a werewolf coming, not above the rain. But he didn't care. He had to find Sam.

He moved deeper into the forest, off the deer trail he and Sam had been following. But no matter how hard he searched, he couldn't find a single trace of Sam. The rain was washing all tracks away.

He moved forward nevertheless, gun up, senses on alert. He wished it wasn't raining.

A branch snapping was all the warning he had. He heard it to his right and spun, seeing the werewolf leaping just in time. He swung his gun around and the shot echoed in the night.

The werewolf crashed two feet from him, sliding slightly in the mud before coming to rest at the base of a tree. Dean let his breath loose, shaking slightly and moving forward once more. He was just glad to see his aim hadn't been impaired. Obviously the bullet had speared the creature's heart.

He crept on, breathing shallowly. And then a flash of light – lightning – made him turn with shock. And there, in the after effect of the flash, was his little brother, silhouetted by yet another strike.

Dean ran to him, but a growl to his left made him stop. He turned, but too late as the werewolf barrelled into him. He fell to the ground, sinking slightly in the mud, and knocking his elbow on a tree root. The jar made the gun fly from his hand and land three feet away.

Dean had no time to think about it. He put his hands up and grabbed the werewolf by the side of its face, digging into the thick fur hiding a once human body.

But the werewolf was stronger than him, aided by supernatural forces. The distance between Dean's face and its teeth closed steadily.

"NO!" someone suddenly screamed, and Dean couldn't place who it was for a moment. It sounded familiar, but it was a thick tone, of someone struggling to speak through choked emotion.

He lost the chance to think about it further as what felt like wind ruffled his hair. The breeze did much more than ruffle the werewolf though – the monster flew off of Dean, yelping with shock and then pain as it hit a tree. There was a resounding snap as ribs broke and it fell to the ground, whimpering in pain.

Dean wasted no time. He grabbed his gun and stood, ignoring the twinge in his own ribs. He walked slowly to the injured beast and then, with no remorse at all, put it out of its misery with a single shot to the heart.

He turned, feeling suddenly drained. Then his jaw dropped as he saw Sam fall to his knees. He couldn't move, glued to the spot, as Sam grabbed at his head and began screaming, wordlessly at first.

"Sam!" Dean shouted. The younger man looked up and Dean gasped at the blood leaking from his nose. Then it hit him. Sam had used telekinesis to get the werewolf off of him and it had hurt him badly.

"Sam!" he shouted again, suddenly finding movement. Sam looked up again, eyes in pain and…

Dean could have sworn they flashed gold in the next lightning strike.

Sam's screams cut off as the third werewolf came charging from nowhere and tackled Sam where he knelt. Sam didn't have a chance to fight back, not at first anyway, and the beast bit down on his shoulder.

Dean was there in an instant, coming in with a kick that sent the werewolf sprawling. Then, as soon as it was off his brother, he brought the gun up and fired once, twice, three times at its heart.

The forest was eerily silent above the rain as the beast groaned once and then died.

Dean kept a hold of his gun in one hand, and then rushed to where Sam was moaning and holding his shoulder.

"Sammy, you all right?" he asked frantically. Sam scowled up at him. His eyes were brown, and Dean rationalized that he was going crazy.

"Does it look like I'm all right?" he spat back. "A fucking werewolf bit me, genius. I'm far from all right!"

Dean was taken aback by the venom in his little brother's words. But he decided to ignore it. Sam was obviously in one of those moods he used to get in when they were kids. A prolonged one.

"Come on, let's get back to the motel, patch you up."

* * *

Now this was new, Sam decided as he watched through his own eyes without being able to move them. He could feel the bite, but it didn't hurt. At least, it didn't hurt him.

The demon was in shock. Never before had it been attacked, so used was it by the superior status and fear it inspired in all other creatures. Never before had it had a physical injury.

And that made Sam happy.

He, through the demon, had felt the werewolves the instant they had arrived in Kelton. The demon had laughed at them, sneered at their presence from that same moment. Sam had questioned it about the mood, and it had surprisingly explained.

Werewolves were inferior, outcasts. Demons who had lost sense of what they wanted and so resorted to the one thing they did best. Killing. They were demons overcome by the monster within them. Or at least, the original ones had been. Now, they spread their insanity by biting, spread their disease.

It hadn't been too impressed by the creatures.

Now it was angry. Angry at itself for underestimating its opponent, aka Sam.

Sam had been suspecting it was up to something since they had left Georgia. And when the demon took his body and turned it off the track, he had realized. He had realized it was going to try and get Dean killed. Apparently Dean's snoring was bugging the hell out of it.

It had crept through the forest, watching Dean from deep within the trees. A werewolf, then two, had approached it, and then backed off slightly. Sam had felt the fear grip him when the demon gave the beasts orders.

"Kill the human," it had told them in Sam's voice. And Sam had screamed inside his own head. Even Dean couldn't take on three werewolves. Of course he would try. And he would fail, wondering where his little brother was, and why Sam wasn't coming to his rescue.

Well, Sam wasn't about to have that. He fought and had managed to regain some control by the time Dean appeared and took out the first werewolf. Then the older man had seen his brother, standing there. And hadn't seen the second werewolf.

The demon had been too intent on Dean's almost certain demise, and Sam used the distraction. Completely within his own head, he attacked his captor once more, using his fear and anger to fuel his strength. And it had worked. He had managed to take control of his telekinesis and had blasted the werewolf from Dean.

The demon, of course, had fought back instantly, tormenting Sam, not with pain, but with images. Memories from its point of view. The mental agony had driven his body to his knees, clutching unprovoked at his head.

Sam had tried to ignore the sense of satisfaction as he watched his mother and Jessica burn above his head, and had succeeded to some degree. But he hadn't managed to warn Dean. Not before the werewolf, called by the demon itself, had attacked him.

Well, he had managed to keep Dean alive, something which grated the demon to no end. The bad news was that he was getting weaker. The attack on the demon had taken a lot of strength from him. He didn't know how much more he had. And the demon had plenty of time.

He felt the car slowing down, and the demon looked around with his eyes. They were back at the motel.

He felt the demon wince as it got from the car. He knew it didn't actually hurt the demon. Not more than injured pride anyway. But he had to look like Sam. And Sam would be wincing.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Dean spoke above the slowing rain. The demon nodded, but Sam suddenly felt hope. Dean would use holy water to clean the wound. And demons didn't like holy water.

He laughed before he could help himself. To his surprise though the demon only sneered at him.

_You think holy water will work on something like me, boy?_ it asked, shocking Sam into silence. _Wait and see, hunter. I'll wince to make your idiot brother think you're still in your pathetic little body, but it won't hurt me. Nothing can hurt me._

Sam didn't answer, too devastated by the sudden loss of hope. It hurt like a bitch. The demon laughed at him.

_Poor human boy. You so want to be free. It's not going to happen. I'll rule your body for eternity and you'll be stuck in your own mind, watching as I destroy everything you love._

_Why me?_ Sam suddenly screamed as the demon made his body sit on his bed. _Why take me? Why kill my mother, my girlfriend! You killed them! You did! I'll kill you, I'll take your pathetic excuse for a fucking body and strangle it! I'll make you pay, you fucking sick bastard!_

For an answer the demon only laughed, knowing it was so much closer to everything it had ever dreamed of.

* * *

So, there you go. Just want to mention once more, that my Dean and Sam have never met _the_ demon and therefore have no clue about its eyes.


	5. Chapter 5: Cromwell

**Disclaimer:** I can just see it… laying down on a beach somewhere, all by my lonesome… except for the hot hunting brothers right beside me… stopping there before it gets too old for all you kids. But can you tell, wishful thinking… and that's all this story is.

**Warning:** Swearing, grossness. Adult stuff, but nothing you wouldn't see on the show. Bit more than you'd hear though.

**Author's Note:** Yeah, sorry for that disclaimer. Got away from myself. But also thanking everyone who's reviewed! You're all wonderful, wonderful people!

* * *

**Chapter 5: Cromwell**

Despite the events of the night before, Dean woke early, sure something was wrong. He sat upright too fast, and looked around for the source of danger.

But there was nothing, and he growled to himself. He knew he would never get back to sleep now.

He looked at his watch. to be on the road. If they left within the hour they could make it to Cromwell by the end of the day and start working on a case that would use brawn and brains. Instead of the major brawn used to defeat the werewolves. He was way over that.

He yawned once and got up to shower. When he got out he woke Sam, who snapped at him for it. He just shrugged, and told his little brother that they were leaving by eight.

Sam grumbled his way to the bathroom to shower, rolling his shoulder against the stiffness. Dean ignored him and began packing his bag, stuffing it full of unfolded clothes.

He picked up a shirt and a spoon fell out. It was the one he had used for lunch the day before. But it made him think suddenly. He sat down on his bed, running the spoon through his fingers, waiting for Sam to appear from the bathroom. He hadn't thought about it last night because Sam had been hurt.

He heard the water stop running, and a few minutes later Sam appeared, his long hair wet and in his eyes.

"Damn hair," he was mumbling. "Get the damn thing cut."

Dean was sure he had heard wrong, and decided to ignore it. "Sam," he began. "Last night, you used your telekinesis, right?"

Sam stopped, apparently seeing Dean for the first time since appearing from the bathroom. Obviously unsure of where this was heading, he sat down and nodded.

"How'd you do it?" Dean asked quietly. He wasn't about to admit it, but Sam's powers freaked him out. Not because he feared what Sam could do, but rather because he feared what they did to Sam when he used them.

Sam shrugged. "Reflex action. I saw the werewolf attacking you, and it just burst out of me. Like at Max's."

Dean locked his eyes onto his little brother's. "So, you haven't been practicing?"

Sam shook his head. "No way. I promised, remember."

Dean just nodded. Something still bothered him. But he decided to shrug it off. He was doing a lot of that lately.

"Come on, we should get going soon."

* * *

They arrived in Cromwell by six that evening, booked into a motel and headed for a bar. They had both decided it was too late to start any research. In fact, Dean was shocked when Sam suggested the little venture to the bar. Dean had been easy to convince. Besides, they were low on cash.

Dean walked in first, leading Sam. They both sat down at a corner table and had one drink, before Dean peeled off towards the pool table. He knew Sam would be fine. Maybe he would get a little bored, but he would be fine, sitting there, nursing his beer.

Or so he thought.

Five minutes later he was in the middle of his first game, the one he planned to lose. Only just, enough to lure the idiots he was playing into a second game. And a third. And possibly a fourth. However many games they wanted to lose before becoming angry.

He had just sunk his second ball when he chanced a look up at Sam's corner. Only Sam wasn't there any more. He looked around, refusing to give into panic, and was relieved when he hadn't. He found Sam, leaning against the bar, back to Dean, talking to a pretty girl.

Dean grinned, imagining how it was going. He knew how it would have gone already. Sam would have gone up to the bar for a drink – only his second – and the girl would have approached him. Not wanting to be rude, the younger hunter would have talked back and hopefully it lead to something Dean wouldn't mind himself.

His grin faded a little as he realized that that was doubtful, but he turned back to his pool game, pleased. Maybe Sam was starting to get over Jess. Well, not get over. But at least move past.

He kept on checking on Sam, who kept on talking to the girl. She looked a lot like Jess, Dean had decided halfway through his second game. Blonde hair, green eyes, only coming up to Sam's shoulder. But she was pretty, and she was practically throwing herself at the younger Winchester. Dean wished he could see Sam's face.

He almost died of shock twenty minutes later. He had just started his third game when he decided he should look up. He did so, and just spied Sam leaving the bar.

Half dragging the girl behind him.

Not that she didn't want to go. She looked excited, glancing over at her friends with an expectant look on her eager face. Dean's jaw dropped, and then he snapped it shut in a grin.

"That's my boy, Sammy."

He should have known. Or maybe he did, deep down somewhere. Should have realized after everything that had happened in the past few days. He should have known something was wrong.

But at the time he was just happy Sam was getting laid.

* * *

Sam had felt the first flutters of panic as he had felt his body approaching the bar, half full glass in hand. He saw the girl, the pretty blonde one, and knew the demon was up to something. He just hadn't realized it was as simple as basic, all-too-human lust.

When he heard the words spilling from his mouth, he had to turn away in disgust. That just wasn't him. God, where was Dean when he needed him. If Dean had heard what this demon was making him say, the older man would have known immediately that something wasn't right in his little brother. But Dean was half way across the room, earning money the Winchester way.

He couldn't help but hear the alluring words pouring from his mouth, but he tried so very hard to ignore it. God, he was never going to be able to go out with a girl again. He knew every time he tried to flirt with a girl from then on, he would hear the demon's words to this poor girl in front of him.

And then suddenly he felt his body walking. _What the hell are you playing at?_ he snapped at the demon.

It seemed to sneer at him from within his mind. _Looks like pretty little Jess, doesn't she, Sammy boy?_

Sam felt the anger bubble to the surface. _Don't you _dare_ say her name. You killed her, you took her away. You do not get to say her name!_

The demon chuckled to him, but turned to the girl he was leading. Sam felt his body lean in and down as the demon kissed her passionately.

She fell back against the brick of the bar's outer walls, giving in to his advances. Sam felt frustration as he noticed the demon's sick amusement.

_Shall we have a little fun, Sammy? _

The possessed hunter swore his heart stopped. _Let her go,_ he warned, hoping he sounded threatening. Obviously he didn't.

The demon laughed, out loud as well, and nuzzled the girl's neck. She moaned beneath his hands.

"Can we go somewhere a little more private?" the demon asked, using Sam's voice, Sam's hands, Sam's body in ways the man never would.

"My apartment's close by," she whispered breathlessly to him. The demon kissed her, and for the first time Sam noticed that it got no pleasure from the affection. No, he remembered now. Demons didn't enjoy anything but death and destruction.

"Sounds perfect," the demon whispered back.

_NO!_ Sam screamed in his head. _Don't you dare fucking kill her with my hands! Don't you dare! I swear to God -._

The demon cut him off with a snarl, though nothing showed on the face of Sam Winchester as he took the hand of the girl and let her lead him into her home.

_What? _the demon snapped. _How is God going to help you, Sammy? Huh? He's all the way up there. Way out of reach._

Sam's mind was suddenly icy as the demon let him feel its anticipation. _What, did you think this was all about using your body to screw her? No way, Sammy. I'm going to use your hands to kill her. I'm going to slice her open, take a look at her guts… all while she's still alive. And you're going to watch. I'm going to make you watch as you kill her. You're going to taste it as you rip her apart._

_No!_ Sam denied in a shriek. _No, you aren't. I swore you wouldn't kill anyone else. I'm not letting you! Hear me! Not letting you! No way, no fucking way. Get out of me, you sick, fucking bastard. Get out! Get out, get out, get out, get out! GET OUT!_

He broke off into a scream of pain as it felt like his very mind was set on fire. It was so sudden he retreated, fled backwards, still screaming as the pain faded. Slowly, slowly, the pain retreated fully, and he stopped screaming, suddenly terrified. He hadn't known the demon could do that. Of course, he should have guessed.

The demon laughed. _There's plenty I can do, Sammy._

_You have no right to call me that!_ he snapped tiredly, suddenly exhausted. These battles with the demon in his mind, they were sapping his energy like crazy.

He felt his body look up and saw out of eyes he no longer controlled. A building loomed overhead, and the blonde girl, oblivious to all battles within the mind of her companion, turned to look at him.

"This is it," she told him coyly.

_This is it,_ the demon laughed as Sam felt despair drive his mind to its mental knees. He had to do something. He wouldn't let it kill her.

He didn't have much choice.

The elevator ride up to her apartment was silent for Sam, who tried to ignore the making out going on right in front of him. Well, it was more than that. He could feel her lips, her hands, her skin where his hands touched her. Only it was so distant, he could barely notice it if he tried.

Then, all too soon, they were in her room. Sam tried attacking the demon with his mind again, like he had in the forest back in Kelton, but the demon was prepared this time. It swatted him away like he was a fly.

Sam refused to give up though. But the girl – Sam had never caught her name, and he knew he didn't want to – disappeared for a moment, and the demon took the opportunity to give into the annoyance it felt. Sam shrieked once more as that burning pain assailed him.

Then the girl came back, her long blonde hair down around her shoulder, wearing a short, silk nightgown.

Sam felt his face contort into an evil grin, and watched as the girl's eyes flickered in abrupt fear and uncertainty. It softened slightly as the demon began taking Sam's shirt off.

It grinned down at her, a grin that never quite reached the eyes. The suddenly sickly yellow eyes. She gasped. "What the…"

The demon laughed, out loud, and she put a hand to her mouth. Sam knew that she had finally realized that she had made a mistake.

The demon let the shirt drop onto the couch. "Wouldn't want to get blood on that."

"Blood?" the girl questioned. The demon nodded, and Sam felt his stomach drop with horror.

"Yeah, it can get quite messy," the demon said, walking towards her.

She looked around before backing up slowly. "What can?" she asked in a quivering voice.

"Murder."

The girl screamed and spun, desperate to run. Her attempt was thwarted however as air grabbed at her, and she screamed again.

_NO!_ Sam screamed with her, attacking the demon again. He wasn't going to commit murder. He wasn't. This girl wasn't going to die at his hands.

The demon was distracted for a moment and the invisible bonds trapping the girl dropped away. She was sobbing as she ran into the bedroom.

_Now look what you've done Sammy,_ it said tersely, obviously annoyed. Well, Sam wanted more.

_You're not hurting her,_ he told it desperately, before attacking again. The demon again swatted at him.

Or tried to.

Sam deflected the movement, learning from before, and rushed in, using his mind to attack the demon. It shrieked in surprise as Sam used its technique against it, causing its mind to burn in invisible flames.

But it died much quicker than Sam's torment had, and it turned on him, furious. Sam backed away, hoping he had given the girl enough time to get away. Because he had the strangest feeling he wasn't going to be around much longer.

_You know, hunter, I wasn't going to do this to you. You should be one of mine, after all. And I need undamaged goods. But… well, you just asked for it._

And before Sam could even digest those words, the demon grabbed him, wrapping him up in himself. He grunted in pain, though it was nothing compared to before. And then it threw him, chucked him deep down, within his own mind where the demon's memories lay wrapped in his own.

And Sam Winchester screamed as he began to watch his girlfriend burn up again and again, pinned to the ceiling again and again, feeling the demon's satisfaction as if it were his own. Again and again

And worse, those screams mixed in with the desperate horror of an unnamed girl as she was sliced to pieces by something, which to her, didn't exist.

* * *

Oh no!

He he, thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter 6: The Art of Hurting

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** Swearing. Angst. Hurtful words.

**Author's Note:** Thanks for sticking so far, people! Your reviews are awesome!

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Art of Hurting**

For the second morning in a row, Dean woke knowing something was wrong. The still unfamiliar notion made him sit straight up in bed, scouring the room for the cause of danger.

At least this time there was something that could cause him panic. However, his first thought was,

"Atta boy, Sammy."

Sam wasn't in his bed. And he knew it hadn't been slept in either; the covers were the same as they had been when he and Sam had checked in. So maybe that hadn't been exactly tidy or neat, but Dean knew Sam hadn't slept in the bed. Which, given the fact that Sam hadn't been in the room when Dean had crawled in at three am, meant the younger hunter hadn't come home last night.

He couldn't help the cheesy grin that spread across his face as he threw back the covers and went to shower.

Once refreshed he moved back to the main room, dressing in the comfort of his own silence. Once again fully clothed, he checked his phone for messages. And promptly dropped it.

"No way," he whispered, sitting down on the bed to pick the cell back up. He quickly checked the time again, sure he had had it wrong the first time. He hadn't.

"One-thirty," he said to himself, rubbing his hair. He had slept in. Slept in big time. But Sam should have been back by now. Or he would have at least called. Checked in. Something.

Not for the first time that week, he felt the first flutters of panic. Ordering himself to calm down, he opened his contact list and scrolled down to Sam's number. He let it ring for almost two minutes before snapping the phone shut with more force than was necessary.

He made his mind up quickly. The last time Sam had left a bar by himself, he had got himself kidnapped by human-hunting hillbillies. Of course, Sam hadn't actually left by himself last night, but… still. Something was up. This wasn't Sam. Something was wrong. He stood, grabbed his leather jacket and left the room.

It didn't take him long to get back to the bar he and Sam had been in the night before. He parked out the front, glad he remembered driving back to the motel. At least he hadn't driven his car while drunk. He couldn't live with himself if something happened to his precious Impala.

"Can I help you?" a man asked as Dean walked in. The hunter plastered on one of those should-be-world renowned Winchester smiles, immediately liked by all.

"I hope so. I was in here last night, with another guy. Tall, brown hair, kinda geeky looking. He left here with a blonde girl."

He walked up to the bar where the man was cleaning glasses. He paused, thinking, as Dean took a barstool.

"Oh yeah, I remember him. I was surprised, 'cause he didn't seem the type to approach someone, you know." Dean felt his eyebrows rise. "But he waltzed right up to Hailey, spoke a few quiet words, and half an hour later… well."

"He approached her?" Dean had to clarify. What the hell was up with his little brother? The man nodded. "And you know this Hailey girl?"

The man nodded. "Sure, she's a regular. Comes in every weekend. Nice girl. Studying at the local college, I think."

Dean nodded, not really listening. "Do you know where she lives?"

* * *

Ten minutes later he was knocking on the apartment door of one Hailey Freeman. For the second time. He knocked a bit louder, making sure he was heard.

Still nothing. He paused, leaning an ear against the door. All he heard was silence. He frowned. That didn't mean nobody was home.

He patted his pockets a few times before cursing himself for not bringing the lock-picking tools. He could visualize the case exactly in his head. Right underneath his dad's journal in Sam's duffle bag.

Sighing, he got out his phone and dialled Sam's number again. And, once again, no one picked up. But he couldn't hear it coming from the apartment either.

"Can I help you?"

Someone asking that for the second time in twenty minutes made Dean jump and spin, coming face to face with a middle aged woman holding a thick-haired baby in one arm.

"Ah, yeah. I'm just looking for my brother. Tall, brown hair. Kinda geeky looking."

For some reason her face soured in displeasure. "Ah yes, _him_. He left this morning, looking very pleased with himself."

Dean contained a half grin. What had Sam been doing? And why wasn't it very Sam-like? That last thought managed to keep his face straight.

"Thanks, miss," he said with a bob of his head. He left, biting his lip. So where had Sam gone?

The questions kept on piling up. He wished he had an answer for just one.

* * *

He drove around Cromwell for the next hour, hoping for just the slightest sighting of his little brother. Those butterflies in his stomach, the ones that kept on hitting the sides and making him jolt? Yeah, they were growing. And he was sure they were made of stone. Where the hell was Sam?

Finally he decided to go back to the motel, gather some things and keep on searching. He had finally remembered the reason they had come to Cromwell in the first place. Disappearances.

Well, Sam had disappeared, and Dean was very, very worried. He hoped this didn't end up being another Benders episode. He gave his left shoulder a slight, subconscious rub.

He parked outside his and Sam's room, not even remembering to lock the car as he walked inside, distracted.

The room was still empty, and Dean gave an exasperated groan. "Where the hell are you Sam?" he asked the air as he began grabbing a few things.

His question was answered as the door opened.

Dean heard the creak and picked up his gun, spinning and raising it. He was sure the thing entering was a threat. He pointed the gun at,

"Sam?"

His little brother walked in, seemingly unfazed by the gun that had been pointing at him. In fact, he raised an eyebrow at it dismissingly. Almost as if it were a toy.

"Hey Dean," he greeted cheerfully.

Dean was in no mood for it. "Where the hell have you been?" he snapped, the relief at seeing Sam alive and well quickly turning to anger.

Sam shrugged. "Around."

For some reason this made Dean boil. "And you didn't think that while you were _around_, you might give me a call? I've been worried sick, Sam!"

Sam scowled. "Dude, I can look after myself."

"Yeah? Well, those are the famous last words. Do you even recall the actual reason we came to this stupid town anyway?"

Sam grinned. "I know why I came. To get what I got last night. And what I'm planning on getting tonight."

Dean was speechless. This was not his little brother. It couldn't be. Sam was not so crude.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" he asked a little breathlessly. More shock came rolling on as Sam laughed.

He laughed long and hard, and Dean wondered when his little brother's laugh had become so… nasty.

The laughter faded, but mirth still danced in Sam's eyes. "Well, that's the million dollar question isn't it, bro," he said, grinning.

Dean shook his head. "I'm serious. Ever since we left Florida, you've been different. Where's my quiet, sensitive, know-it-all little brother gone? I mean -."

Sam cut him off with an angry snarl. "Your _quiet, sensitive little brother_ is still in here. But I'm sick of being that. Sick of playing second fiddle to you, sick of taking your orders."

Dean's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Yeah, that's right," Sam spat, his mouth curling into a snarl. "You think you can order me about, because you hate taking orders from Dad, but find yourself doing it anyway. I know all your dirty little fears, Dean. Let's see. You have one-night stands because you think no one could love you if you let them in. Because you're pathetic. You drink to forget that I left, and to make me stay, because if I drink as well you know I'm going to get the courage to leave your sorry ass behind in that stinking bar. But you just go ahead and play on my… me, make me feel like I need to get you back home. You're so sad, Dean. Pathetic, sad, little Dean!"

At some point during the tirade, Dean had sat down on the bed. Suddenly he was finding it hard to breathe. This couldn't be Sam. It couldn't be. But he looked up, into the face of his little brother. Into the face of Sam, and it was hard to believe otherwise. But still…everything from the past week was piling into his head.

"You're not Sam," he said breathlessly. Sam grinned.

"You know what?" the younger man said snidely. "It's about time you realized that."

Dean watched with horror as Sam's eyes turned yellow. And then he spun, realizing his brother was possessed, going for a weapon, a book, something. Realizing Sam had been possessed for the past week. _Should have realized,_ Dean chastised himself as he leapt for his bag.

He never got there. An evil laugh filled the room, and then Dean felt himself leaping further than he had intended. Right into the wall in fact. He didn't even get a last thought as he slipped into unconsciousness.

The demon wearing Sam's face laughed again and turned to leave. "I'll deal with you later," it told the unconscious hunter. "Give you some alone time to wallow in self-pity and blame."

And it left the room laughing, leaving an unconscious Dean where he had fallen to the floor.

* * *

The demon had made its first mistake, Sam decided as he lay in the darkness of his own mind. He was crying, and he felt no shame for that. It wasn't easy watching your girlfriend, the woman you had planned to make your wife, burn above your head over and over again. Especially not when you felt the satisfaction of the beast that had murdered her, mixed in with your own silent screams of horror.

Well, it had done what it was intended to do, Sam knew. It had been intended to make him suffer inside his very soul. To make him feel dirty, and helpless, and horrible. And it had worked.

But it had side effects.

And now Sam was very, very angry. Now that the visions had stopped, now as he lay in the dark, he was determined. The demon was going down. The bastard was going to suffer for doing what he had done to Jess, and to his mum, and to countless other women who had died trying to protect their children.

He struggled to surface quietly, trying to see what was happening around his body without letting the demon know he was doing it.

Somehow, he managed it, and suddenly he was looking out of his eyes. The change was a little startling.

When the demon had forced him under, his vision had still been blurry. It had been dimly lit inside the girl's apartment. Now, his vision was shockingly good, back to his normal sight, and then some. And now, though it was dark, he was outside, looking up at a double story house.

What the hell were they doing here? Sam wondered it as he struggled to repress the memories of what he assumed to be the night before. He didn't want to remember his hands tearing that poor girl apart.

_How we going, Sammy?_ the demon suddenly asked, amused.

Sam jumped, then scowled. _I'm going to kill you,_ he told it, his voice hard. It betrayed none of his inner agony at what it had made him watch.

The demon chuckled. _That would be a neat trick,_ it said to him, distracted slightly. _Now, if you'll excuse me, we have a date inside that home._

_What are you doing?_ Sam asked as his body started forward. He crept silently forward, and the demon didn't answer. Instead, it moved to a tree, and climbed nimbly up it.

It stopped outside a window, but the room was too dark for Sam to see in. But he suddenly had a very bad feeling, especially when the demon began humming with pleasure.

_What are you doing?_ Sam asked again, louder this time.

The demon laughed. In the reflection, Sam could see his eyes glinting, and it made him shudder. But still the demon gave no answer. Sam waited, the seconds ticking by. He waited for nothing.

_Tell me!_ he screamed, losing it finally. _It's my body, I -._

_Your body? _the demon asked incredulously, cutting the hunter off. _Last time I checked I had control of it, Sammy._

_Don't you fucking call me that, you freak. It is my body, you stole it! Now, tell me what you're doing!_

The demon laughed again. _It will all be familiar in a moment or two, Sammy._

Slowly, silently, it reached out with its powers. Sam watched on, unmoving, as it slid the window open. As the demon climbed in, Sam began preparing himself, gathering that anger he knew could fuel his strength.

And then he lost it all as he realized what room they were in. What type of room.

_No,_ he whispered hoarsely as his body took one, two, three steps forward. _No, you can't._

_Can't I?_ the demon asked, smiling evilly down at the baby boy asleep in his crib.

* * *

Oh no, once again. Is Sam going to be able to stop the demon? But Dean finally realized, yay! Not that it's done much good. Tune in for more tomorrow!

Anywho, bye!


	7. Chapter 7: Ruining Plans

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** Swearing.

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. And here's the next chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 7: Ruining Plans**

A black truck sped into town, fake police badge already clutched in the tight hands of the nervous middle-aged man behind the wheel. In the passenger seat a cluster of maps, graphs and weather reports were pinned down by an antique Colt revolver.

John Winchester quickly made his way to the residential part of Cromwell. He only knew that this town was where _the_ demon would strike. All the signs pointed to it being tonight. He just didn't know which house, which family. Which six-month-old baby. And he had no time to find out. He was relying on pure dumb luck for that.

He thought he was prepared. If he could only find the right home, he could save a family for the first time since he had picked up the trail a year ago. Come face-to-face with the demon for the first, and hopefully only, time.

He glanced across at the Colt within reach of quick reflexes. If he could find the house, the family, the baby, he could make this hour the last one for the bastard of a beast who had stolen his wife from him. And, by default, had stolen his safe, normal life, and those of his sons. He was ready, he was prepared. Or so he thought.

For what he was about to face, no one could ever be prepared.

* * *

_No,_ Sam pleaded. He couldn't do this. He wouldn't subject another family to the same pain his had gone through. Even if it meant begging. _Please don't make me do this._

The demon was thoroughly amused by his pleading. It smirked at him, a look duplicated on Sam's physical face.

_Please,_ Sam tried again. _If there's any mercy in -._

_Mercy?_ the demon broke in with a laugh. _Mercy? Come on Sammy, you know me. I'm a demon. There's no mercy anywhere in me._

_Why? Why are you doing this? Why go after this little boy? He's just a baby!_ He was desperate for answers, desperate for time, desperate for some miracle. But he was alone, and he knew it.

_This _boy_ will become so much more. Just like you could have._

Sam felt his blood run cold. _What do you mean?_ he asked, deliberately not connecting the dots.

The demon laughed. _Come on Sammy. Don't play dumb. Remember I know your thoughts. I know your memories. Mummy's death… Jess's… you knew there was a connection there. A connection to you._

Sam knew that if he had been in control of his own body, he would have had trouble breathing. Hell, he was only a mind now, and he was having trouble existing at all.

_So they were in the way,_ Sam said in an attempt to keep his mind moving. _You killed them because they got in the way to me. You bastard. I hate you. I hate you! You ruined my life! You murdered the woman I loved, just to get to me, you sick fucking son of a bitch!_

The demon laughed, but Sam let the hatred feed him. He felt it burning his heart, felt it boil in his head. Oh, this bastard of a demon was going down, if it killed him.

It turned its full attention to the baby and Sam prepared to give the fight of his life.

"What the hell?"

It was a woman's voice, a young woman. Sam jumped in his own mind, but the demon just smiled before turning to her.

She gasped as she saw the yellow eyes. But she didn't back up, didn't try to run. She just glanced quickly at the crib, worried only for her son.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked. Sam had to give her credit. She was young, not even twenty, small, kind of fragile. And here he was, over six feet, muscled, imposing, with demonic yellow eyes. But she didn't back down, didn't move, didn't give any physical indication of how terrified she actually was. Only the demon could smell it on her – even to Sam, she reeked of fear.

At it, the demon sneered with pleasure. It never gave an answer though. Instead, it dived deep into its black cloud of powers and pulled out those ones that Sam knew it kept especially for times like these. Those terrifying powers.

The girl, the baby's mother, slid back into the wall with only a gasp. It was at that moment of something wholly unexplainable to the rational mind that her fear broke the barrier into physicality. Her face paled and she began trembling. Her eyes begged uselessly.

Sam watched on in horror, knowing he was seeing exactly what had happened to his mother. Because of him. He felt paralysed as in his mind she had suddenly morphed into a pretty blonde woman, face slightly blurred between two once very real people. He was terrified, watching her suffer, and knowing that both his mother and his lover had suffered so. All because of him.

In the end, the baby boy saved both their lives.

The baby gave a small cry of fear, knowing instinctively that something was very, very wrong. It jolted Sam from his petrified state, and he finally noticed the many differences between this woman and his mother, and Jessica. And he knew he could save this woman. She slid a little further up the wall.

_NO!_ he screamed, lunging at the demon in his mind. He wrestled with it, and the girl stopped climbing up the wall. And then she dropped suddenly to the ground.

Sam gasped as he suddenly had complete control of his body for the first time in days. Complete control.

But it had repercussions. Nothing seemed to work as it had, and Sam fell to his knees, feeling aches building over his body, like he had the flu. It was at that moment that the demon began fighting furiously back.

Sam screamed out loud as the demon flared within him, using pain in its attempt to regain the advantage. His back arched, subconsciously trying to escape the pain physically, since he couldn't do it mentally. Not that he could do it physically either.

He knew he didn't have much time. He knew very soon the demon would take back control. He looked up desperately at the girl.

She recoiled in horror as he looked up at her, leaning further into the wall where she was crouched.

"Run!" he screamed at her. He felt the demon beating him down, taking over everything again. He began shaking, and groaned with the pain, putting his head down, hands on the ground.

She gasped when he flung his head back to reveal eyes flickering between yellow and brown. But he still had control.

"Run!" he cried once more, shocked as his voice wavered like a cassette that had been left in the sun too long. "Get your son and get out! Now!"

He was breathing heavily. It felt like his whole body was rippling. He was running out of time.

Sam looked up at the girl still cowering by the wall where she had fallen. "Run, dammit! I can't hold it back forever!"

Something in his voice must have spurred her on. Face streaked with tears, she ran to the crib. She passed by close to Sam, who felt the demon surge up in an attempt to grab her ankle.

He kept the demon down as she dashed back past him, baby and blankets clutched in her hands. Again the demon surged, pushing and pushing. He fought back for as long as possible, but the girl had only just disappeared down the stairs when he collapsed to the ground.

His mind receded, and with a snap, the demon regained control. Sam had no choice in it. He was exhausted, and the demon was furious. Incredibly furious. His body shook with the combination of both.

With a cry of rage, the baby's crib burst into flames, which quickly spread around the room. The demon asserted itself fully, implanting itself with a strength Sam doubted he would be able to throw down again. The demon now had a hold on his body like none he had experienced before.

Once fully in control, the demon turned on Sam with a snarl. _Oh, you are going to regret that, Winchester._

* * *

John saw the blaze from a short distance and swore to himself, feeling the anger at himself compress somewhere very near his heart. He was too late.

He slowed and pulled over, sitting for a moment before hitting the steering wheel with a white knuckled fist.

He sighed, feeling suddenly tired and old. Rubbing his face, he looked over at the light in the night sky. He wasn't far from it. In fact, he was behind it by a house. He could get there quickly by going around the block. He leaned forward to put the car into gear.

Some gut instinct suddenly told him to stop. He listened – he always did – and looked around for the danger. He found it, sneaking about in shadows maybe twenty metres up the road.

Even in the dark, the yellow eyes were bright. Too bright for the sickly shade.

John gasped silently, unbelieving of his luck, and went for the Colt, that mythical Colt that could kill anything – as in supernatural anything. But again, something told him to stop. He looked up again, just in time to see the demon passing under a street lamp.

Now, John hadn't seen his youngest son for some time. Over a year, while he had been hiding from the both of them. And only from a distance while the stubborn boy was at college. But he loved his sons, and, better than that, he had a brilliant memory. He knew, and would know, his boys anywhere, anytime.

But he still had a hard time convincing himself that the figure under the lamp, the one with the demonic yellow eyes, was his youngest. It couldn't be Sam. It just couldn't. But he knew it was, and managed to convince himself that he wasn't going crazy.

After he finished drowning in denial and despair that was.

* * *

John drove around the block and pulled up in front of the burning house. A large crowd had already gathered, but they were being kept back by several firefighters, who were aided by three policemen. Lights flashed, and the noise was almost overbearing after the silence of his mind at seeing Sam with _those_ eyes.

He got out of his truck after searching quickly for a badge somewhere in his glove compartment. He walked forward with a determined stride, wishing he could have gotten here sooner. Not just to save the family, but to save Sam's soul as well. If Sam was possessed by the demon, he was going to exorcise the bastard and send it straight back to hell. Well, he was pretty sure he was going to do that. He was wavering because he knew that if Sammy knew what he had done, what his body had done… he could never live with himself.

He came up to the barrier of people, where he was stopped by a firefighter. He kept his head up and flashed the fake FBI badge.

"Agent Eastwood," he introduced himself, snapping the badge shut before the man could get a good glimpse at it. But he saw it nonetheless, and he recognised the commanding tone John had used. He stepped aside and John walked through without another word from the firefighter.

A cop came up to meet him. John flashed the badge before the man could say anything about what he was doing.

"Agent Eastwood," he claimed again. "What happened here?"

The cop shrugged, instantly giving into that need to please his superiors. "We're not really sure. Sir, what are you doing here?"

John gave him a level stare. "Me and my partner have been tracking an arsonist through the state."

"An arsonist?" the cop asked with some disbelief. John pinned him under an icy arched eyebrow.

"Yes. Why, does that seem odd? Does the fact that this bastard has been responsible for countless people burning to death seem a little weird?"

The cop shook his head. "No, sir. Sorry." He looked around. "Where's your partner?"

"On the trail, still. Now if we've finished with the questions, tell me what happened."

The cop almost snapped to attention. "Ah, we're still unsure, sir. Apparently there was an intruder – your arsonist, I'm assuming. Apart from that, the victim hasn't spoken. She's in shock."

John was a little shocked as well. "She? Did the mother survive?"

His question was a little edgy, John knew, but he couldn't help himself. The cop gave him a curious stare where he thought the hunter didn't see, but still answered.

"Yes, they all survived. No casualties at all. Why?"

John forced himself not to shrug. "This man doesn't usually leave survivors. Where are the victims?"

"Over here, sir," the man answered, leading off. John followed, looking up at the house. He was feeling pride swell within him. Obviously Sam was fighting still. That had to be a good sign.

Over near the still ambulance sat two figures. An elderly woman, maybe ten or so years older than John himself. And a much younger woman, holding tightly onto a quiet bundle of blankets that John knew held a baby. He kept the relief off his face. They had all survived. He couldn't believe it.

He approached by himself, and the two women looked up at him. The younger woman looked completely shocked, while the elder was worried.

"Hi," he said gently, unsure how to go about his questioning. "My name's John. Can I ask you a couple of questions?"

The younger woman didn't move, but the elder nodded, tight-lipped.

"Thanks," he said with a smile. "Now first things first. What are your names?"

Again the older woman answered. "I'm Yvonne Harris. This is my daughter, Amelia, and her son, Drew."

John nodded, still smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Now, I know it's very soon afterwards, but I need answers. Please, can you tell me what happened tonight?"

Yvonne looked down, placing a hand on Amelia's shoulder and squeezing. Still the mother didn't answer.

"I was asleep for most of it. But Drew must have cried, because Amelia went to him. I heard her scream. And then a man screamed. I don't really know what. I couldn't hear properly. But then she came running downstairs, Drew tucked in her arms. She was scared out of her mind."

John nodded, before turning to Amelia. He squatted before her and made her look him in the eyes.

"Amelia," he began softly, almost in a whisper. She heard. "Please, I know it's hard. But I have to know what happened. Please, can you tell me?"

The young woman, girl really, looked up at her mother. Then she looked down at the baby in her arms. And she nodded.

"I heard him cry." She meant her boy, Drew. "I went to his room. There was a man standing over his crib. And when he turned to me… he had… I thought he had… I'm going crazy. I'm insane."

John sighed, wishing not for the first time that people didn't have that reaction inbuilt as the proper response to something they couldn't explain. But he kept his eye on the girl.

"You can tell me anything. Please, I have to know."

She looked up at him, really looked at him for the first time. "He had yellow eyes. He was so tall, and big… and his eyes, they were yellow. And… I don't know. I was suddenly… I was climbing up the wall."

Yvonne made a noise of disbelief in the back of her throat, which both John and Amelia ignored. "And then suddenly I stopped. And then I fell. And he fell too, he fell to his knees. And he began screaming at me to run. He told me to get out and take Drew. His voice… it was weird, like he hadn't used it for ages. Or like… like a tape that's been left out too long in the sun, or something."

"Then what?" John pushed as she came to a halt. "What happened next, Amelia?"

"It all happened so fast. He yelled out… he was screaming, in pain, I know he was in pain. It was like he was… bipolar or something. He was all aggressive and scary, and I felt petrified. And then he fell, and he was so much younger. He was scared too, but he yelled at me. Yelled at me, 'Run dammit, I can't hold it back forever.' I think he was insane… or something… but… I don't know. I grabbed Drew and left. I ran out of there, and then the room was suddenly on fire."

The demon had taken back control. John dropped his head, feeling his heart pound. But he felt around in his pocket for his wallet. From it he drew a photo. He had to be sure.

"Amelia, is this the man?" he asked, showing her a picture he had taken of Sam while his son had been in college. She looked at it and nodded.

"It was dark, and his eyes… sometimes they were yellow… but that was him."

John nodded and replaced the picture. He wished she could know the truth. That the man in that picture had actually saved her life, and that of her child. But then he would be free for about five minutes. Less, considering Yvonne's livid glare.

"Is there anything else, Amelia?" he asked. She began to shake her head but then stopped.

"Oh, you said to tell you anything, right?" John nodded. "As I was running, I heard something. But not… I heard it in my mind."

"What did you hear?" John asked. He glanced quickly at Yvonne, who had turned pale. His eyes narrowed as he realized that she had heard it too. It was confirmed when the older woman whispered,

"You are going to regret that, Winchester."

* * *

So, what do you think the demon's going to do? Tune in tomorrow to find out!


	8. Chapter 8: Meeting Up

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Just playing.

**Warning:** Swearing, again. Small spoilers.

**Author's Note:** So, not long to go now. Maybe three more chapters after this one, not sure, I have trouble counting. Have fun reading!

* * *

**Chapter 8: Meeting Up**

"_What did you hear?" John asked. He glanced quickly at Yvonne, who had turned pale. His eyes narrowed as he realized that she had heard it too. It was confirmed when the older woman whispered,_

"_You are going to regret that, Winchester."_

* * *

John retreated to his car quickly, pulling his cell phone out as he went. For some reason, those last words had chilled him. Sent him into what could be called panic if he weren't a Winchester, weren't a hunter. The knowledge that the demon was going to do something very bad had settled into the pit of his stomach.

Leaning against his car, he dialled a number he hadn't called in months.

* * *

Dean drove around Cromwell, feeling more than slightly dazed. It had been eight hours since Sam had left. For half of it Dean had lain unconscious on the ground, unaware as something took his brother's body and left. He refused to understand how, or why. But he knew it was true. Something had possessed his little brother. Sam wouldn't say those things to him. He had toyed with the idea that they were true, thought long and hard about it as he remembered the incident in the asylum.

For an hour of driving he hadn't wanted to believe that for a week something had used his brother without Dean knowing, without realizing. But there was something inside of him. Sam wouldn't say things like that.

He had woken around sunset, and had realized that he was alone. And that Sam was still out there. Dean knew Sam was just as alone, and that he was in trouble, and that he needed help. And he wanted to help him. He needed to get that bastard out of him. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was something in there. Sam wouldn't say those words.

And yet the images of an abandoned asylum kept coming to mind, no matter what Dean tried.

_You hate me that much._

Whatever it was, Sam needed his help. Something had got to him, used his body as a shield. It explained everything that had happened in the past week or so. The verbal thrashing Sam had given him never quite left his mind, but it had been shoved to the back by Protector Dean, coping style. He would save Sam, he would.

Sudden ringing intruded on his mind, and Dean realized he had once again been in a daze, driving aimlessly and dangerously. He sighed, knowing he was going to cause an accident if he kept going. He found he didn't really care.

He didn't glance at the caller id as he flipped the phone open. "Hello?"

"Dean?"

Dean's eyes went wide and he slammed on the brakes. "Dad?" he questioned, surprised. "What the hell?"

"Dean, where are you?"

Wasn't that the question he wanted answered? "Dad, where are _you_? Me and Sammy, we've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Dean, just answer the question!"

The hunter was surprised at the alarm in his father's voice, but who was he to deny John's orders. "I'm driving… ah Dad, we have a problem."

"Dean, what's wrong?" John's voice was suddenly cold.

"Ah… Jesus, this is even harder to get out than to believe, but Dad… I think Sam's possessed."

"I know Dean. I saw him."

"Saw him?" Dean asked, his voice embarrassingly high. "Saw him where? Doing what?"

"I don't want to explain over the phone, Dean. Look, just trust me though, okay. We have to meet up. There's a farm I passed on my way in." There was the sound of shuffling papers. "Guffy Road. First farm you pass on your way out, on the… the left. Go there."

"Dad, what about Sam? He's in trouble. We have to help him."

Dean heard his father go still. Then, "We will Dean, we will. But you just have to trust me on this. Dean, just get to the farm. I'll explain everything there."

"But what about Sam?" Dean repeated.

"Let me worry about him. I'll meet you there."

The line went dead, and Dean, feeling more confused than ever, dropped his cell onto the seat beside him. Something was definitely wrong. More wrong than he had even suspected.

* * *

Outside of the town, the night seemed darker. Dean suspected it had something to do with the lack of lights, but in the back of his mind he couldn't help but feel he was walking into serious trouble. Or driving into it, anyway.

He turned into the driveway, going slow to save the Impala from the potholes on the disused road. He could see lights up ahead, headlights, and knew they were from a truck, judging by the height. His stomach clenched at the thought of finally meeting up with his dad again.

He pulled up beside the black truck, facing the barn. As he turned off the engine, he saw the door of the building open, and a solid figure stepped out into the night.

Dean got out slowly, suddenly hesitant about facing John. After all, the man had just upped and left. No explanation, nothing. One day he had just decided to disappear. That had been almost a year ago. In all that time they had spoken only once – after the incident that had been running through Dean's head the whole evening.

He walked forward anyway, hands in his pocket. He couldn't help the resentment building in his head. It must have showed on his face, because John paused a few feet from the door. He looked uncomfortable.

Dean stopped a short distance from his father. "Hey Dad."

"Hey Dean," John answered. In the dark, Dean couldn't see the relief on the older hunter's face. But he could hear it in his voice. And he knew that things were seriously wrong.

He walked forward, forgetting everything that had made him stop in the first place. He was getting good at forgetting. And he hugged his dad, so glad to see him alive.

Surprisingly John hugged him back tightly. He wondered what was running through the older man's head.

They parted after a moment, emotion over and done with. "What are we going to do about Sammy?" Dean asked as they moved into the barn.

"We're just gonna wait for him to show."

Dean stopped in the doorway, shocked. "What? But Dad, he's possessed! Why in the world would he just show up here?"

John winced. "Dean, your brother…" He sighed. He couldn't get it out. Couldn't tell his son that his brother was possessed by the thing that had killed their mother.

"What, Dad? What about Sam? What aren't you telling me? Jesus, Dad, I have a right to know!"

John looked up at Dean, stunned. Who was this and what had it done with his son the soldier? And Dean hadn't even finished, continuing as John toyed with the idea that maybe both his son's were possessed.

"Jesus, Dad. You run off, you never call. Sam was _blind_, Dad. Blind. And you didn't call, you didn't care. I was _dying_ and you didn't even send a message. Nothing! Well, I'm sick of it, sick of being ignored! What the hell is going on?"

His voice had risen until he was shouting. He felt so angry, so depressed, a huge mixture of emotions overwhelming him after the day, the week, he had had. But he stopped, trying to rein it in, and just glared at John.

The older man shook his head. "I care Dean. That's why I stayed away. I wasn't trying to ignore you." He sighed again, and turned, moving deeper into the barn. He knew they wouldn't have much time. Soon Sam… no, soon, the demon would find them, and if they weren't prepared, they were screwed. But Dean needed an explanation.

He sat down on a rusty barrel and faced his oldest son. Dean had a moved a few steps from the door, closing it behind him. His face was furious.

"I've been on the trail of the demon, Dean."

Dean nodded. "I know. That little phone call in Illinois, remember. The only time you've spoken to us in the past year!"

John felt his own anger flare, but he kept it down. "Dean, let me finish will you. Like I said, I was on its trail. And… it's a bastard of a thing. Ruthless. Willing to do anything to get what it wants. I stayed away because I knew that if I were near you, near both of you, well… it would hurt you to get to me."

Dean nodded. He was quick to anger, but he was just as quick to calm down. It made sense, what John said. It didn't make it any less difficult to accept though.

But then John sighed. "About a week ago, I found a gun. A gun that can kill anything."

"As in supernatural anything?" Dean asked, stunned. John nodded.

"As in the demon. But it found out. It went after… it killed Pastor Jim, Dean. And Caleb. It was so desperate to get this gun, that it killed them. I only just got away from it myself, and came here, because signs were starting, signs that the demon would be here. I thought I was doing the right thing, leaving you and Sam out of this. I thought it would stay focused on me. I was wrong."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

"I mean, I thought… I knew some of its plans. And I thought I could get it before it even began putting them into play. And I thought I could even annoy it enough to push the plans back even further, so…"

"So what?" Dean pushed when John paused for too long. He moved forward, concerned by the grave tone in his father's voice. "Dad, what's happening?"

John looked down, feeling defeated. When he looked up, it showed on his face. And Dean knew. He just knew.

"No fucking way…" he whispered. "No, not Sam. Jesus Christ. Are you freakin' telling me that _the_ demon is the son of a bitch possessing Sam?"

John sighed, though it was with exasperation this time. "Yeah, Dean. I saw him myself. I saw him…" He trailed off, not wanting to go into it.

Dean shook his head. "Oh my God, why didn't I pick up on it earlier?" He asked himself. "He had to say those things before I realized _my own brother _was possessed. I should have realized."

"You couldn't have known," John repeated firmly, cutting his son off. He didn't want Dean to blame himself.

"No, I should have. Dad, listen. Sam, he's been acting different. For the past week. We did this job in Florida. We were just about to leave when Sam had a vision -."

Once more John cut in. "Vision? Sam's having visions? Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Dean stood angrily. "Tell you? Tell you? Haven't we already been through this? You know, with the calling, and the lack of answering. Sending coordinates instead of a get well card. Ignoring the fact that you son was blind."

John reined his anger in. "You're right. You are. I'm sorry. I should have… done more. But this demon…"

Dean nodded. "Anyway, we went to where the vision pointed. And… I'm not sure what actually happened, but I was thrown through a wall, and when I woke, Sam was… well, different. Silent, a little nasty. Some of the things he said…" _Pathetic, sad, little Dean._ "And he would barely help with research, and… hell, he basically gave me a big, fucking neon sign that something was wrong, and I ignored it," he said, thinking back to Kelton and the werewolves. "Jesus, why didn't it click sooner?"

"It was unexpected," John comforted. "It's something that has never happened to us before."

Dean cleared his throat, embarrassed. He sat back down and said quietly, "Actually, it has. At least, to Sam. A lot's been happening, Dad." _Which you would know if you bothered to call, or even write_.

John held back his. He should have been there for them. Then he shook his head. The past was the past. For now they had to get Sammy back. Then he could start making things right.

"Ok, we need to get ready, Dean. I know you have questions, and you deserve answers. But for now… if that demon catches us with our pants down, it's bye bye Winchesters, hello hell on earth."

Dean nodded, losing that remorseful look. "What do we do?" he asked.

John stood and moved to his bags. "While I was waiting, I made a call to Bobby."

Dean half-grinned. "The guy that tried to blast you full of buck shot?"

"Yeah, him," John confirmed dryly. "He was more than willing to help now though. He gave me a few tips, a few things we can use. There's a circle we can use. It'll bind him in the one spot, where he'll be powerless. And then we can exorcise him."

Dean nodded, having followed him to the bags. "Fine. What can I do?"

"Line everything with salt. Holy water won't work on this bastard, that I know, but salt definitely will. Salt's older than the church, as old as the demon itself. And this circle will work, and the exorcism Bobby suggested. I swear, that guy's a walking encyclopaedia on demons."

Dean nodded again, grinning forcedly. He grabbed the salt, but looked up at his father when John grabbed his arm.

"You should know, Dean. When we get that bastard out of Sam… Sam might not be the same."

Dean felt his blood run cold. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, the demon… it's been in him for a week. It could have made him do anything. And Sam may have been there, watching as the demon used his body to…" He trailed off, letting it all hang in the air. "All I'm saying is he might not want to be back. He might be different."

Dean swallowed before nodding once. "It doesn't matter. We can help him, once he's free. We can't do that while the bastard's in him."

John nodded, sure now of his older son's resolve. Dean turned to line the building with salt. John leaned on the wall near the bags, crouching still. He sighed, closing his eyes. He hoped that Dean was right.

* * *

The barn was silent and dark, but Sam knew his family was in there. He knew, because the demon knew.

He winced inside his own mind. He was helpless, his mind all but paralysed. The demon had shown him more of its little mind tricks, including one to bind him. It was like he was chained to the wall of his mind by his wrists and ankles. And try as he might, they wouldn't budge.

Add to that the fact that the demon had shown him a whole new level of pain, and he wasn't doing so well. After the demon had left the burning house, it had… well, to be honest, Sam wasn't really sure what it had done. He didn't want to be sure, because he knew the memory could destroy him. His barriers were down, crushed by the demon in all its malevolent fury. It knew everything of him now. Hell, it knew things Sam hadn't even known he knew. In the aftermath of saving the girl and her baby, the demon had ripped his mind to shreds until Sam's mind was its toy. A broken toy at that.

The result was that Sam wasn't sure whether or not he wanted control back. Not anymore.

The demon knew his every dirty little secret. It had invaded his mind, raped it again and again without remorse, without thought. Sam had thought he had felt wrong when the demon in Bloomsfeld had possessed him. That had been nothing compared to now. And he wasn't sure he could go back to it. To the nightmares, the fear, the constant sense of the sickly, disgusting haze that had settled over him.

The demon had tortured his soul and Sam would pay the consequences if he were free again.

He looked out of his eyes without controlling them. The demon hadn't spoken to him since they had escaped the burning home. It was finished with him, with Sam, and now only wanted his body. It enjoyed that he was aware, and that he would be aware, but Sam could tell it now lacked that deep satisfaction of watching him suffer.

It, too, knew he was broken.

Suddenly the demon started forward, taking no care to hide itself. It didn't matter. Tonight it would end the great hunters. Tonight it would end the Winchesters, because none of its underlings could.

And then it would be free to mould the world as it saw fit.

* * *

So, what do you think? Like? Tune in tomorrow for the start of the big showdown.


	9. Chapter 9: Fight Back

**Disclaimer:**I take them, mould them, disentangle them, and give them nicely back as they came.

**Warning:** Swearing, as usual. Long chapter, well, longer than the rest have been.

**Author's Note:** So, all enjoying so far? Thanks to everyone for their reviews. This next chapter is dedicated to you.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Fight Back**

Dean was on one knee, bent over, drawing a pentagram on the floor when all hell broke loose.

A part of the wall behind him suddenly exploded in a shower of splinters, and he cursed in shock, diving to the ground in order to avoid being seriously impaled.

The wood hadn't even finished falling when he felt an invisible force pick him up. He flew through the air and slammed against the opposite wall, the impact driving all breath from his body.

He opened his eyes, struggling to get air into his lungs. He looked around, noticing the darkness. But he hadn't heard a second thud. The plan was working, starting with the unneeded pentagram he had been drawing, and hopefully ending with Sam's freedom.

And then a laugh echoed around the barn. Dean swallowed, instantly recognising it, though it was hard. It was Sam… but it wasn't. And now Dean had realized that all week, his voice had missed that inflection that made it Sammy's.

He remained silent, squinting in an attempt to see through the dark. It was an effort made unnecessary when the electricity suddenly came on, illuminating the barn. Dean blinked twice before his gaze came to rest on the demon that wore his brother's skin. Before his eyes came to rest on the demon's yellow ones poking through with Sam's stare.

"Hi Dean, I'm back," it said with amusement. Dean almost couldn't believe that it was Sam's voice. It sounded so… evil.

Dean struggled to keep all thoughts of the plan from his head, knowing the demon could read minds. Instead he focused on the being before him, the bastard pretending to be his little brother. The thought made him quiver with anger.

"You sick son of a bitch," Dean spat quietly, unable to contain his rage. "Let my brother go."

The demon chuckled. "Nah, I'm good." It took a few steps forward. "Sammy's good for me. Keeps me on edge."

Dean felt his lips contort in a snarl. "Don't you call him that! I'm going to kill you, I swear. I'm going to rip you from his body and send you crawling back to hell!"

He ended in a scream, desperately keeping his eyes on the demon. It had begun to smirk, a look so alien on Sam's face that Dean felt his fury flare.

"Ah, Dean," the demon said, shaking Sam's head. "You and your father have so much to learn."

Dean felt his stomach drop, and an instant later his father, who had been sneaking up on the demon from behind, thumped into position a few feet to Dean's left. The mysterious Colt lay dropped where John had been snatched from the air.

The demon laughed as John groaned, breathing hard where he was pinned against the wooden wall. Dean refused to give up hope. Okay, so their plan had failed, but… but they were still alive, and this one demon wasn't going to rip them apart from the inside. Especially not using Sam's hands. Dean would not let his brother live with that for all eternity.

The demon walked backwards, still laughing, as John regained focus. It picked up the Colt and gave it a once over. For the first time it let a different emotion to amusement come through. Dean couldn't believe that it was fear.

"This damn gun has been such a pain in the ass," it muttered. "It's hounded me for centuries. Let's see…" It paused, checking something that Dean couldn't see. "Two bullets left. Ah, of course. One vampire and…"

It suddenly growled, pulling the Colt up and pointing it at a spot somewhere between John and Dean. As the demon slowly walked forward, the aim slowly moved towards Dean. The hunter tried to slow his heart rate down as the barrel came to rest pointed at him from the too short distance of five feet.

"You killed two of my children with this gun, John," it said coldly. "Maybe I should kill your's with it."

Neither Winchester answered, but Dean's heart beat wildly. For a long moment that stretched into eternity, none of them moved. Hell, they hardly even breathed.

Then the demon laughed and dropped the aim. Without looking, it tossed the Colt aside, where it landed on the floor with a clatter.

"Now this is good," it said, walking up to them. Dean couldn't stand the glint he could see in his little brother's eyes. "This is power." Sam's body shuddered and Dean felt sick at the morbid enjoyment shining through his brother's face.

"You know, I've planned and planned what I would do to you once I had you, once I had all three of you. But this is sweet."

John leaned his head back against the wood, staring at the demon over the top of his nose. "Enjoy it while it lasts, bastard. You won't be around much longer to do it."

The demon laughed at John's idle threat. "Come on John. Did you really think your hunt for me would turn out any different? I've been around for centuries, hunted by idiots just like you. And they're the ones who rotted in their graves. For those who had graves."

It sighed and walked forwards, smiling coldly before turning to Dean.

"And you… you are most definitely your father's son. A whole week with me and it didn't click until tonight? You and your brother are gaining quiet a reputation, yet the great hunter Dean Winchester didn't realize his baby brother was possessed. He held back information, knowing I'd drop little signs everywhere because of it and still…"

It chuckled as guilt burned within Dean. John looked at him, trying to catch his son's eye, tell him that it wasn't his fault. But Dean refused the contact, letting the anger smoulder away inside.

Once more the demon sighed. "You know, I've held your life in my hands this past week Dean. I could have killed you millions of times."

"Then why didn't you?" Dean snapped, unable to stand being silent for any longer. He needed some way to vent his frustration, his anger. "Why didn't you kill me?"

The demon smirked, but Dean swore he caught something in its eyes. In Sam's eyes. "What, and miss this fun? Miss the fun of making your father watch you suffer before your horrible death? I think not."

This time Dean smirked, and he watched as it made the demon falter. "Bullshit," the hunter answered cockily. "Remember, you walked out, tonight. You weren't going to come back. You were going to find Dad and kill him. All without me."

The demon was silent for a moment. And then Dean laughed, shocked that he could do so.

"It was Sam, wasn't it? He wouldn't let you touch me. With the werewolves… he tried to warn me. Hell, he saved me from one. But _you_ had made him disappear. You were going to watch as those werewolves killed me, but Sam stopped you."

He felt his confidence rising again as the demon's face turned angry. John was watching too, and he shook his head at it, at the foolish bravery. But he remained silent. If anyone could help him and Dean get free, it was Sam. And if anyone could help Sam, it was Dean.

"Too bad you didn't figure it out earlier, Dean," the demon snapped. "Because now Sam… well, he's completely under my control."

It walked in closer, until it was only inches from Dean's face. And then it leaned in, so it could whisper venomously in his ear.

"When he denied me my prize… Oh, you should have seen it, Dean. You should have heard his screams. I savaged his mind, Dean, ripped it apart so I could read it like a book. I took what was his and shredded it – his memories, his thoughts, his will to live. I hacked you little brother into tiny little pieces, and then stuffed it back however I pleased. Even now he is nothing but a speck in the mind that was once his. It will never be his again, Dean. Hell, I'm not -."

"SHUT UP!" Dean screamed, unable to take anymore. "Shut up! Stop talking, you sick fucking freak! If you hurt him, I swear to God I will rip you into pieces!"

The demon only laughed at his outburst, taking a few steps back. "That's it, Dean, let it all out. I know you. You wouldn't believe how well Sam knows you, and I know everything he knows. Big, protector Dean, always willing to sacrifice himself for his family. For his baby brother. He knows it's because you need him. So much more than he needs you. He knew it three years ago as well, when he went off to college. And he still left. Left you to drown in your own pathetic gloom."

Dean could hear himself breathing in and out through his nose. It was so strained, and he was so angry. He couldn't help himself.

"Look, would you get this -."

"Why Sam?" John suddenly broke in, seeing his son struggle with the demon's words. Dean couldn't give into anger yet.

The demon looked at him, a smirk back in place. "You mean why possess him, right John?"

The older hunter nodded. "You know that's what I meant."

The demon chuckled. "Few reasons I guess. One, he's a psychic. He has some nice abilities. He could be strong if he weren't so afraid of it. Of course, nothing threatening. But those abilities, added to my own…"

The demon trailed off into a shudder and Dean turned away in disgust. It gave him a knowing glance before turning its attention back to John. "Two, he's a Winchester. The opportunity to use him to destroy you, John… well, it was too good to pass up."

"Is that it?" John asked, using the corner of his eye to make sure Dean had calmed down enough to regain his senses.

"No," the demon answered. "The real sweetener was the fact that, like you John, Sammy's a tortured soul."

"A what?" Dean interjected, feeling suddenly off balance. His brother was a what?

The demon gave him a grin, but it was John who answered. "A tortured soul," the hunter said to his son, giving the younger man a quick glance before turning full attention back to what had been his prey. "Someone who has suffered so terribly, that their very soul suffers along with them. Watching someone they love, like really love, die and being unable to stop it. Seeing those around them get hurt continuously and feeling like they played a huge part in it." The father sighed. "Did you know Sam was going to ask Jess to marry him?"

Dean shook his head, stunned. Why hadn't Sam told him that? And how had John known?

"Well, he was," John continued. "He loved her. Like I loved your mother. And he watched her burn above his head, and he was unable to stop it. Unable to save her. And he'll always feel guilty about that."

The demon nodded. "It's like blood to a vampire, without the need, or the lust. Just simple enjoyment on a pure scale."

Dean snapped his jaw shut. "You sick bastard," he whispered, disgusted by what he had just learned.

Once more the demon chuckled. "Sticks and stones, Dean. The fact is I'm going to kill you. And actions speak so much louder. Although I'm sure Sam's screams will be very, very loud."

Dean swallowed. "So, he'll be aware then," he had to confirm, wishing he could have let just let it go. "When you kill us, he'll be watching. Watching, and unable to do anything."

The demon's sick grin was answer enough. Dean found himself glaring at it, snarling silently. "I hate you," he whispered, the emotion blocking his airways until he couldn't speak any louder. "I hate you so much."

"That's why I'm the demon," it answered, taking a step back. It lowered its head, and Dean swore he felt power filling the room. Fear unhitched his voice.

"Sam!" he screamed, desperate. He would not put Sam through this. "Sam, I know you're in there! Fight, goddamn you! Fight it, fight it!"

The demon looked up, its eyes somehow brighter, filled with power and amusement. And Dean began crying out in pain. He groaned loudly, near screaming, and looked up, desperate not to show his fear. Dean ignored the yellow tint, and instead looked through at his brother. The pain lessened slightly as the big brother tried to get through to his responsibility.

"Sam, I know you can hear me. Don't you dare let it kill us! Don't you dare!"

* * *

_Yeah, Sammy, fight me,_ the demon taunted, watching Dean's attempts at provoking the possessed Winchester.

Sam ignored it, tried to ignore everything. Somehow he was crying, tears flowing down his face. He hated it, but the helplessness, the fear, the guilt, it was all getting to him. Besides that, he still hurt. He couldn't fight back. He was broken.

"Don't ignore me, Sam!" Dean screamed, the pain noticeable in his voice. "I know you're in there. I know you can fight back. You're a hunter, goddammit! Hunt!"

The demon laughed inside Sam's head as the younger man found himself straining subconsciously against the invisible bonds holding him down. He didn't stop when he realized what he was doing, but pulled harder. Even if he wasn't sure he wanted freedom, Dean deserved it. More than that, he deserved life.

But he was exhausted and hurt. And fighting only hurt more. _I'm sorry, Dean,_ he whispered to no one as he stopped, unable to even move. _I'm so sorry._

Although Dean couldn't hear him, the demon could. And it laughed at his pathetic excuse for a fight before turning its full attention on Sam's older brother.

"Sorry, Dean. He's not fighting."

Dean didn't get a chance to respond, or even ignore what the demon had said. The moment it finished speaking Dean began crying out as the demon drew deep on those dark powers from barbaric times, screwing with the young hunter's chest and causing pain like he had never felt before.

"Dean!" John yelled, straining against his own invisible chains. His face had paled, but it was nothing compared to the effect it had on Sam.

The younger hunter gasped, knowing exactly what the demon was doing. It was ripping his brother apart, from the inside, making sure his body weakened slowly. And he knew it would take hours before Dean even lost enough blood to fall unconscious.

_NO!_ he screamed at the demon. But he didn't pull against the ties. He knew it was useless, knew he couldn't physically move.

Only not all his moves were physical.

Desperately blocking out Dean's heightening screams as his organs slowly tore apart, Sam turned his mind inside himself. It was a strange feeling. Inside his mind, he turned his mind inside; the sensation of doubling over was disconcerting. But he did it, and searched hard for those powers he could feel calling to him.

The demon suddenly realized what he was doing, and panicked. The shock of it panicking almost made Sam stop, but the relief as it stopped torturing Dean spurred him on.

If they had been in a physical realm, Sam would have described it as flying down a deep, dark hole, only without wings and without the wind rushing past. He was in the lead, but the demon was catching up quickly. He could feel it, closer to him than he was to his powers.

He stretched, urging himself on and on until it felt like his mind was stretching out, slowly becoming untangled from other parts of himself. He reached out, reached for that bundle of powers he normally tried to deny. His hand grabbed it at exactly the same instant as the demon snatched a part of his disembodied mind.

Sam lashed out instantly with a sort of purely mental telekinetic energy. Inside his mind it came easily, anger and fear fuelling his power and reflexes. And inside his head the force stayed.

The blast struck the demon, and it cried out with the shock of pain. However, because it held onto Sam, he felt it too, felt his own attack. He gave a yelp, squinting slightly.

The demon fell to knees, clutching at Sam's head. The force had thrown it physically off balance, making it lose control. John and Dean fell to the ground.

Dean stayed where he fell, still recovering from the demon's attack. Sam didn't catch what happened to John as he sent another wave at the demon. In its pain it couldn't block the attack. Sam, on the other hand, was used to dealing with headaches. He was used to moving through the pain, coping with it. The demon hadn't had a powerful enough foe in several centuries to have the precedent.

Head reeling slightly, Sam sent another wave at the demon. Only it was a fast learner. It managed to block the telekinetic energy, and sent it back at Sam as an attack. He only had time to gape at it before the demon suddenly had control again.

They resurfaced from Sam's mind inside his mind a moment later, the demon looking out of Sam's eyes. The hunter was still weighed down, only more tired now. But he had stopped it from hurting Dean. And,

"Don't you move, Demon."

It was John's voice, confident, from somewhere behind him. The demon moved spryly to Sam's feet and turned, coming to face the barrel of the Colt not three feet away.

It smirked. "What, John? You would kill your own son to get me?"

John never even flinched. "If that's what it takes." He cocked the gun, and the noise of a bullet sliding into place filled the otherwise silent barn.

"Then yes."

* * *

Will he? Won't he? Guess you'll find out tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10: Exorcism

**Disclaimer:** I think you know by now.

**Warning:** Same as usual. Another long chapter.

**Author's Note:** So, really not long to go now. This is the second last chapter. Wow, thanks for sticking with it. To all those who reviewed, thanks heaps! I love you! And so, on with the story.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Exorcism**

_It smirked. "What, John? You would kill your own son to get me?"_

_John never even flinched. "If that's what it takes." He cocked the gun, and the noise of a bullet sliding into place filled the otherwise silent barn._

"_Then yes."_

* * *

The demon never saw it coming. It glared at John using Sam's yellowed eyes, daring him silently to pull the trigger. Daring him to kill his own son to destroy it forever.

It never saw Dean preparing to tackle it from the side. Never saw him getting up. Never saw him until it was too late.

A force hit it from the side, and in its shock it didn't even summon up its powers. They fell to the ground in a tangled mess a few feet from where the demon had been standing.

Dean got up slowly, wincing with the pain in his chest. But he was grinning.

The demon stood faster, its eyes glinting dangerously, its face red with anger. It spun to face Dean, silently promising retribution. Then it flicked its head to the side.

When nothing happened, Sam's jaw dropped, and for the first time, Dean could be sure he saw actual, human fear in its eyes. He glanced upwards at the symbol on the ceiling. How had Bobby described it? Ah yes. A satanic roach motel. He looked back at his baby brother's body, smiling triumphantly. The demon met his gaze, slowly pulling it from above.

"Gotchya," Dean spat.

John dropped the arm holding the gun and stood up straighter. The demon turned slightly to include both of them in its sight.

"I'm going to kill you slowly, and painfully," it promised, getting close to the edge of the circle, prowling like a caged beast. Dean held his breath, hoping beyond hope that Bobby was right. John's grip tightened on the gun. Sam's knuckles slowly whitened as the demon became angrier.

"Hear me!" it yelled, seemingly snapping. "I'll kill you!"

But it didn't move further, and Dean began to breathe again.

"You got to get out first," he told it, enjoying the power. "And I really don't think that's happening."

John turned and moved into the shadows. Dean watched him for a moment before turning back to Sam. "Don't worry, bro. We'll get him out," he told his little brother, hoping he could hear.

The demon sneered. "Yeah? And what makes you think he wants me out?"

Dean refused to let it touch him. "Because he's a Winchester. And Winchester's aren't pawns."

This time it chuckled. "Maybe he is a Winchester. But Winchester's can still be broken. You have no idea what I did to him."

Dean couldn't help it. He snarled, moving into the circle, and grabbing the demon by Sam's shirt. He looked deep into those yellow eyes, searching for something. Anything. Any sign of his brother.

When he didn't find it, he growled, letting the shirt go. "I'm going to kill you for what you did to him," he promised it.

A scraping sound heralded John's return, and Dean turned to watch as his father dragged the chair closer, rope in the other hand.

"Sorry, Sammy. But we're getting it out, and this is the only way," John apologised.

Five minutes later both older hunters stepped back, out of the circle. John shrugged his shoulder where the demon had hit him hard. It hadn't been easy getting it tied to the chair, but between the two of them, they had finally managed. It seemed that the demon knew its own trick or two when it came to the physical fight as well. Either that or it had tapped into Sam's fighting ability easily.

Dean worked his jaw, trying to get the ache out of it. But he didn't move away. Instead, he walked around to the side, grabbing a folded piece of paper from his pocket. John held his journal open in his palm.

The demon sneered. "An exorcism?" it asked indignantly. "And what makes you think it will work? Holy water doesn't. Exorcisms… they kinda link in with that musty crap. I'm far older."

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "That's why there are two," he told it, waving the paper around. It was out of John's journal. "The same exorcism, repeated at the same time… twice the strength." Or so John had theorised. Bobby had seemed to agree.

Once again the demon faltered, wondering how the hell things had become so screwed for it. Wondering if it would indeed destroy the great Winchesters… or if they would destroy it.

Dean watched the disbelief cross its yellow eyes before looking up at his father.

"Ready?" John asked, taking a deep breath. Dean nodded shortly, heart beating wildly. _Not long now, Sammy._

John nodded back. "Don't stop, whatever you do. Do not stop."

That in mind, Dean began to recite the Latin before him, struggling around the foreign language simultaneously with the graceful ease of his father's ritual.

It wasn't long before the demon was turning pale. Its teeth gritted, Dean knew it refused to groan, or cry out, or give any sign that the exorcism was working. He kept on going, not allowing himself to wonder what it was doing to Sam. He kept his eyes on the words before him, keeping in time with John.

The words seemed to come slowly. The time passed by even more so. He kept his ears pinned on John's words, refusing to hear as Sam began to whimper. He kept his eyes on the paper in his hands, refusing to see Sam's eyes filled with fear. Because at that moment he knew he would see his brother, and not the demon they were trying to destroy.

More time passed by, as did a line or two. It was a long ritual, the longest, and most powerful John knew. Hell, it was the most powerful Bobby knew. And it had to be, for the son of a bitch inside Sam, Dean knew.

The words spilled out, and Dean kept on going, ignoring the sweat shining on Sam's face, ignoring the white knuckles around the arms of the chair. He kept on going.

"He doesn't want to come back!" the demon suddenly screamed. Dean almost faltered, hearing so much of Sam in the cry. But John continued on stubbornly, and Dean knew he couldn't stop now.

"Hear me!" it cried. "He knows everything I did while I held him! Everything! Not just the woman and child, John, not just them! Everything!"

Dean's grip tightened around the paper and he continued on, trying to go faster, but having to keep in time to John's somehow calm words. He just wanted this to be over. Over for Sam.

"He killed someone!" it screamed desperately. The hunters were shocked by the emotion it showed, the fear for its own safety. It was something they had never expected. They had expected icy coolness, demands. Not this desperate plunge for guilt-driven freedom.

"He knows everything, Dean! Everything! He watched as his hands ripped her apart from the inside out. Watched as his hands killed her, stole her life!"

Dean kept on going. He knew demons lied. He had to know that, or he could never bring Sam back. He could never let his brother live with that knowledge. Never let Sam live with that memory. He kept on going.

"She wasn't the first, either Dean," it warned. "Hell, he doesn't even need me! Remember Eve? Yeah, the psycho witch. I know you remember her, Dean. I know!"

It was full on screaming now, trying anything to distract them. John assumed it had never been in fear of its life before. Never. It was used to being at the top of the food chain. It was used to being the predator, the stalker, the killer. Not the killed.

"Sam told you the fire demon killed her, right? Wrong. Wrong! He killed her, Dean. He ripped her mind from her body! He stole her mind, left it floating in nothingness, while her body fell apart because there was nothing to hold it together! Sam did that, your _innocent baby brother_!"

Dean almost choked at the demon's words this time. They had the ring of truth to them. But he didn't stop, instead letting his words flow as a hoarse whisper. He kept on going.

"Come on, do you really want that free, Dean? You have no idea what he's capable of. No idea! No idea! NO IDEA! I know you don't want _that_ free! I know!"

Sudden anger flew into the older brother, and his eyes locked on the demon's, letting it know it had made a terrible, fatal mistake. His voice rose, back into normality, and on, louder and louder. No one told him what he wanted, not when it came to Sam. Yeah, he was afraid of the fucking shining, but he loved his brother. _And no bastard demon is going to tell me any different!_

At that last vehement thought, he screamed the end of the exorcism, at exactly the same time as John voiced his a little more softly. But his own emotion was shown as he snapped the journal shut. In the sudden silence of the barn, both free Winchesters waited.

The demon seemed petrified for a single moment. Then it started groaning, head flying in all directions. Sam's hands twisted in the ropes, his limbs twitched. And then he screamed.

It was one long scream, his eyes shining more and more yellow, becoming brighter with every second that the scream went on. It seemed to be the only colour in the room as the hunters' vision tunnelled in on that tiny detail.

And then Sam's head dropped, and the barn was once more silent. Eerily so.

Dean let his breath loose, not realizing he had been holding it. He and his father shared a look. "Did it work?" Dean asked, not sure why Sam's body wasn't moving.

John went to shrug, but their attention was stolen by a single drip. Dean looked closer, and saw Sam's nose was bleeding.

Suddenly regaining movement, he dropped to his knees before his baby brother and held his head up. Sam's eyes were closed, but he seemed to be breathing. Dean heaved a sigh of relief.

"He's alive," he told John. The older man repeated Dean's heave and came to kneel closer.

Dean took a closer look. "Sammy, can you hear me?"

There was a long pause. And then, so low they could barely make it out,

"Dean?"

The older brother laughed with relief, feeling the sudden, ridiculous urge to cry with the insane emotion. That voice was all Sammy.

"Let's get him lying down," John ordered, bringing a bit of sanity back to the situation.

Dean nodded and began untying Sam's feet from the chair legs. John set upon the wrists and in no time at all Sam was free from his restraints. Together they lifted the youngest member of the family and moved him, laying him down on the floor. Dean knelt over him.

"Sammy, you still with us?" he asked. There was a murmur for a reply. Dean sighed, looking up at John.

"Should we get him to a hospital?" he asked. Then he really looked at his father. The man was frowning, slowly turning white. Disbelief began intruding on his eyes. And then he stood up, quickly, as if Sam was infected with something.

"Dean, move away from him," the older hunter ordered.

"Why?" Dean asked, frowning. He turned to look back down at Sam.

Yellow eyes met his. He gasped, before he was suddenly soaring through the air once more. He landed hard and didn't get back up.

* * *

Sam watched Dean go flying, and renewed his attack on the demon. He was tired and hurting. But so was the demon.

He attacked with all his might as he watched his family disappear from sight. The exorcism had worked, sort of. It had weakened the demon enough for Sam to have a chance, loosening his bonds until he was free to move physically… in a purely mental sense of course. It was confusing if he dwelled hard on it.

But he knew what he had to do. He had to fight, no matter what his body screamed at him. It was battered, and bruised, and weary, but the demon was even more determined to destroy his family. And he wasn't about to let that happen.

The two beings in the one body stayed on the ground, fighting hard over both body and mind. Sam struggled, lashing out any way he could. At the same time the demon defended, not gaining enough time between the hunter's offensive to launch its own.

_I am not losing to you!_ the demon suddenly yelled inside Sam's head, pushing back desperately. Sam gritted his teeth, or he would have if he had had teeth. And he pushed back, ignoring his own screams of protest.

_I…_ push. _Am not…_ attack. _Letting you…_ push, hard, push hard against the ethereal body inside his mind. _Kill my…_ almost there. _FAMILY!… _scream.

At that last, stubborn cry of pain, anger and determination both Sam and the demon felt a shift in control. Sam felt a jolt, as if he were dumped into his own body. He opened his eyes, actually opened them himself, for the first time in what felt like a millennia.

He rolled over, but even that one movement made his body shake as all his mental exhaustion followed him in with a plummeting drop. He gave a groan, shaking, feeling nauseous, and as if he had vertigo, even though he was lying down. He lay there for a moment, trying to get his bearing.

And then he felt it, as he paused. The demon was fighting back, not bound inside Sam's mind as Sam had been. Rather, it now began the chase to those powers nestled deep within the dark depths, the ones that were now a mixture of both Sam and demon.

"No," Sam whispered, starting after the demon. Only it was much quicker than he was, grabbing onto those powers. And it didn't keep the attack purely in Sam's mind. No, it attacked the one thing Sam could never afford to completely lose.

His family.

John was just getting to his feet when the blast of telekinesis struck him, flinging him like a rag doll against the wall. Dean, too, was picked up as if he were nothing, and rammed into the wall with such force that Sam was sure something had broken. And then John began screaming with intense pain.

_Daddy first,_ the demon snarled viciously at Sam, intent only on revenge now. _So you know exactly what is coming for dear Dean!_

Sam lifted bleary eyes to watch as his father screamed. It was horrifying; Sam had never heard his father scream before, and he knew it was a sound that would haunt him forever. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Or was there.

Desperate to look away, Sam suddenly spied the gun out of the corner of his eye. He knew the demon was wary of it. Fear was far too strong a word, but wary, certainly. Could he reach it, before the demon ripped his father's insides apart?

Another scream, and he had decided yes, he could.

He began crawling forward, not having enough strength to get his legs underneath him. He dragged himself forward, as fast as his body would let him, ignoring the pain shooting down his back, ignoring the ache in his head. He only concentrated on the gun and the screams of his father that spurred him onwards.

_No you don't!_ the demon screamed as it saw what Sam was trying to reach. It began hurrying to finish John off, so it could move onto Sam's true weakness: Dean.

Sam ignored it, crawling and crawling. Not far now. Three feet. Two feet. That was close enough.

He didn't dare collapse onto his face with the success of reaching the gun. That would mean he would never get back up. No, he ignored the stress making his body shake, and reached out. Trembling fingers closed over the barrel.

He dragged it closer and finally managed to get a good hold on it. Determined, he pulled his feet up and under him, using a nearby old bench to heave his body skywards. His hand felt cool as it rested on the metal top of the bench.

Knowing he couldn't hold his own weight, he leaned on the table, still using his father's pain as a sick type of motivation. But it was working; he turned, until he was facing his small, shattering family, gun in hand.

He looked over at them as he leaned back on the table. Dean was just regaining focus, about which Sam was unhappy. He would have preferred that Dean not see this.

He began to lift the gun, his arm not obeying at first. He was so tired, exhausted. He just wanted to finish it. He didn't want the memories, didn't want any of it. He would have settled, at that moment, for unknowing bliss. For nothingness.

His arm crept closer to his head.

Finally the demon dropped its attack on John, deciding to focus purely on the mind it had tried so hard to suppress. The mind dedicated to a family it had underestimated.

Sam looked up at Dean as the barrel lightly touched his temple. John was gone, unconscious or so it seemed. But Dean was there, he was alive, and conscious.

Their eyes met and Sam silently begged him to understand. Dean begged him to stop, and Sam closed his eyes. He didn't want his last moment to be watching as Dean's world crumbled.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

Just let it be over.

There was a single moment of emptiness, of nothingness, or pure silence...

There was a resounding bang...

There was a long, chilled scream...

And then the world returned to that blissful silence that had covered it only moments ago...

* * *

Oh, he didn't! Did he? I suppose you'll find out in the last chapter, up tomorrow!


	11. Chapter 11: Winning and Losing

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** Character Death.

**Author's Note:** So, I left the last chapter in a pretty nasty cliffhanger. Sorry. But, this is the last chapter, just a short one to basically wrap things up. Um, hope you liked it, and thanks for reading!

* * *

**Chapter 11: Winning and Losing**

_There was a single moment of emptiness, of nothingness, or pure silence. _

_There was a resounding bang._

_There was a long, chilled scream._

_And then the world returned to that blissful silence that had covered it only moments ago._

* * *

Dean dropped to the ground as the barn descended into silence. His heart beat erratically, and his head pounded to a steady rhythm. John landed nearby and didn't move. He couldn't believe what had just happened.

A shadow passed over him and he looked up at the demonic haze hovering above his little brother. Sam lay on the tabletop, surrounded by the shattered legs of the bench he had been leaning against. After years of rotting, the wooden legs had been worn, and hadn't been able to take Sam's weight. The noise of Sam falling had been deafening.

As he watched, the demon didn't reform, didn't move, just hovered there, staring at Sam. And Sam stared back, relief and fury mixing strangely on his face. Unmoving, Dean could only watch. There seemed to be something going on between the two, something unseen and dangerous.

The Colt lay almost forgotten between Dean and Sam, having been jarred from the younger's grip as he landed hard on the ground.

Then Sam suddenly looked away, wincing. And the demon pounced.

It regained a physical form somehow, or one that looked physical. It vaguely resembled a man, only with long fingers that ended in claws and a blurred face that was oddly egged shaped.

As Dean watched it took those inhuman fingers and plunged them into Sam's temples. Once more screams shook the barn.

Dean shook himself from the daze he had entered and looked at the Colt for the first time. Deciding quickly, he sprung to his feet, needing only that added distance to scoop up the antique gun. He cocked the trigger, aimed, and fired.

The demon disappeared a split second before the bullet could hit. Sam slumped to the ground as Dean heard the bullet hit the wooden walls of the barn.

He let the last bullet enter the chamber, waiting in hope that the bitch would reappear. He wanted so badly to hurt it. But he wasn't completely obsessed about it. Senses trained on the barn, he moved to Sam.

"Sammy?" he asked, hoping for an answer. He didn't let the gun drop, but used his other hand to check for a pulse as his eyes scoured the room.

He jumped and almost pulled the trigger as a hand gripped his wrist. He looked down and stared into Sam's eyes, deciding instantly that those puppy dog looks were the most beautiful thing on the face of the earth.

Sam didn't let him speak. "Wait," he struggled to get out. Dean knew he was close to unconsciousness. "It… 'll come… back. Wait."

He was panting by the end, face screwing up in some unseen pain. Dean waited, senses on hyper as he did so. He waited for Sam's order to shoot.

The grip around his wrist tightened. "By Dad… Now!"

Dean stood, wrenching his wrist from Sam's grip, and spun to face the prone form of his father. He pulled the trigger and the demon appeared the second before the bullet hit it.

It shrieked, but didn't shrivel up as Dean had imagined it would. Then again, Dean hadn't known that in its shadow form, the demon was just as invulnerable to bullets as ghosts. Still, the demon screamed in pain. And then it disappeared in one long shriek.

Below him Sam slumped, breathing heavily now. Dean took it as a sign the demon was gone for good. Or for now, at least. He dropped the gun. The now useless gun. Without the bullets…

He knelt beside his little brother, not caring that he had lost his family's only known way of destroying what they had vowed to destroy years ago. He knew he had wounded it. And if he hadn't they would have all died.

"Sammy?" he questioned, taking a hold of Sam's hand. The younger man opened his eyes.

"Fine…" he whispered. "Tired… sore… Dad?"

At the thought of the Winchester patriarch Sam's eyes filled with guilt and his hand gripped Dean's back. "Check on… Dad… alive? I think I killed him Dean."

Dean looked across. John appeared to be breathing. It also appeared to be laboured. But he felt torn. Sam needed help. Probably a hospital.

Sam shook his hand and brought him crashing back to Earth. "Dad, Dean… please… no hospital."

And with that his eyes closed. Dean panicked for a moment, checking hurriedly for a pulse. He found one, thankfully and surprisingly strong. Not as strong as it should be, but more so than he had imagined it would.

Hoping Sam would be okay while he lay there unconscious, Dean crawled across to his father and rolled the man over. What he saw shocked him.

"Dad!" he cried out, laying John out flat. He looked terrible. He was shaking, and pale, except where tracks of bright red blood flowed from his nose, mouth and ears.

"Oh, God, Dad!" he coughed, thumbing the older man's eyes to check for… anything. Some sign of life.

"Dean," John whispered, and the older son jumped once more, shocked that his father was aware.

"Dad, we've got to get you to a hospital. Jesus."

He couldn't believe the severity of the injuries. Intense internal bleeding. Had to be. He remembered his father's screams in his memory, though the memory was distant, like a dream. And he remembered what the demon had been doing to him, realizing John had got a heavier burst.

The realization must have crossed his face, because John nodded, his eyes filled with tears.

"Dad, you can't…" Dean began, falling slightly to the side. He felt numb. "Dad, you can't die."

"Too late, Dean," John answered softly before coughing. Dean flinched as he coughed up more blood, sickened by the sight of it bubbling over his father's lips. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you have to watch this."

Suddenly panicky, John flailed, looking for his son's hand. Dean grabbed it, saving his father the trouble and the energy, before getting back to his knees and leaning over, rubbing John's hand. The older hunter closed his eyes with a sigh.

When he opened them again, he looked so at peace that Dean felt like crying.

"Is Sam okay?" he asked, knowing the answer before Dean nodded. The younger man wouldn't be next to him if Sam hadn't been okay.

"He's… it's out of him, Dad. It's gone."

"Good," John nodded quietly. "Good. Don't you let him blame himself, Dean. Watch out for him."

"You know I will, Dad," he answered with a choke. "God, Dad, you can't go. We've still got to hunt this bastard down. Kill him…"

He trailed off as John shook his head. "Sorry, kiddo. No more hunting for me. It's up to you and Sam now… Dean…"

Somehow the older man looked up and kept his eyes focused on his son. He was losing blood fast, dying quicker and sooner than anyone had ever expected. But somewhere he found the strength to look into his son's eyes.

"Dean," he repeated. The younger man had to lean in to hear. "I'm so proud of you. You held this family together when we would have fallen apart so long ago. You… you…" He broke off into a coughing fit, and Dean found himself gripping his father's hand harder and harder. "Dean, you helped me through the toughest time of my life. You did the same with Sammy. I'm so proud of you Dean. I never told you that enough."

And he broke into another coughing fit as Dean found himself unable to hold back the tears anymore. He felt them make tracks down his face.

"Dad, you never had to tell me," he said once his father was silent again. He had no idea what to say. What did you say to a man who was dying in your arms? "Dad, please… you can't go now, we only just found you! Sammy… Just hold on. We'll get you to a hospital… Dad!"

John had closed his eyes, losing the strength to keep them shut. His breathing became more laboured.

"Dean," he whispered. "I love you. Tell Sammy I love him… and watch out for him."

There was one more coughing fit, great wracks made from blood heaving in places it shouldn't be in. Then John beckoned his son closer, and began whispering in his ear.

And as the great John Winchester died, Dean fell away, shocked beyond words.

When he finally did breathe, it was a hard, sobbing intake, as he tried to hold back the traitorous tears. He took to the impossible task with determination, and told himself it was a task in which he succeeded.

But in reality he knelt there for hours, crying silently over his dead father.

* * *

The next night.

The night was cloudless, the stars shining down brightly. The land was further illuminated by the hot fire burning in the middle of a field just outside of Cromwell, Alabama.

Dean Winchester stood facing the pyre, watching as his father's body burned. He watched silently, unmoving, not crying. He had done his grieving the night before, as John's body cooled, as Sam lay unconscious not five feet away, unaware that their father had passed.

Sam was aware now. Oh, he was aware, aware of every flame licking his father's body, because it licked his soul at the same time. He didn't cry either, though his reason was that he didn't deserve to. But in his heart it felt like a hole was growing, and he wished he were once more blind so he wouldn't have to watch his father burn for his failures.

As the minutes ticked into hours, Dean looked across at his baby brother. Sam was still weak, his body not working at times. And he was silent, guilt-driven, dogged by horrible memories of things his body had unwillingly committed. Like murdering his own father.

Dean looked back at the flames. Sam had only woken that afternoon. Dean had told him straight away. He had expected Sam to… well, to do something at least. He wasn't sure what. But instead the younger hunter had had Dean help him to his feet and over to the wrapped body of their father. And there he had sat, staring at nothing. Not speaking, not crying, while the night before Dean had poured his heart out. It had hurt them both, Sam's just sitting there.

He looked deep into the fire. He knew Sam blamed himself. And he knew he should say something.

"It wasn't your fault," Dean suddenly heard himself say. He didn't look across at Sam, didn't let his gaze fall from the flames. "It wasn't."

Sam didn't answer. In fact he made as much movement as Dean had made – none. They both just stood there silently, as one, watching the fire eat their father as John had watched it eat Mary.

At the same time the silence ate away at them, at their hearts and souls. As one.

* * *

So, that's it, lovelies. The end of Tortured Soul. The tale will continue, in another fic, if you want it to. Until then though, thanks and goodbye!


End file.
